Falling in Love Again
by Oryo
Summary: Tonight in this theatre, we humbly present an ambitious experiment: Rurouni Kenshin - a pop-art remake. Find out who and what everyone may be in 1960's New York! (shonen ai/yaoi, can./altern. pairings, rated for language, sex and drug abuse)
1. Chapter 1: A Hard Day's Night

Edit: I have moved the following introduction from its first place to the beginning of the actual chapter, because I don't want my story to get deleted just because of the introduction chapter. I'll lose two reviews because of this anyway.

**Dear readers,  
I would like to invite you follow me in an experiment ... **

This story is based (more or less) on the main characters and the major story lines of Rurouni Kenshin, but will lead you in a (rather unorthodox) alternate universe. I call it experiment because the characters have a different biography, different family links and other social backgrounds, including the skin color. Besides, I will introduce additional characters, split some characters of the original story and mix them to create a new character. So they are rather reflections of their originals than the originals themselves.   


The story is settled in New York and begins in 1965.   


**Disclaimer:** Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki. 

This story will contain further more or less important influences (simple citations, parodies, ideas or story lines) from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" (created by Richard O'Brien), "Velvet Goldmine" (directed by Todd Haynes), "Gohatto" (directed by Nagisa Oshima), "Batman" (directed by Tim Burton, created by Bob Kane), "Fake" (created by Sanami Matoh), "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (written by Robert Louis Stevenson), "West Side Story" (created by Leonard Bernstein), "Romeo and Juliet" (created by who-was-this-author?), "Huis Clos" (free engl. Transl. "Public excluded", written by Jean-Paul Sartre), James-Bond-movies (the novels have been written by Ian Fleming) and a mix of stories about spies, private eyes, special agents and the Mafia. I don't own any of this creations, but consider this story as a tribute to them.

The title of this story is the title of the English version of a German song "Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß auf Liebe eingestellt.", from the movie "The Blue Angel" (Der blaue Engel, 1930), performed by Marlene Dietrich. In Germany, Marlene Dietrich is one of the icons of gay culture, like Judy Garland had it been in the US in the time I settled this story.

**Rating:** The story is rated R for language, no graphic sex between two men, adult situations in a heterosexual relation, controversial political opinions and drug abuse. 

I beg you not to be offended with the political opinions of my characters. They belong to them and not all of them are mines. Besides that, I would never flame and have never flamed other authors for their political opinions.

Please, be indulgent with the rather poor language of my story, I'm still working on it! English is not my native language. 

LAST WARNING BEFORE READ: As I said, this story is settled in the Sixties. This means there is no danger of AIDS. And this is the reason why people - especially the men - have sex without protection. If I had settled the story in the present time, it would be different.

**Falling in Love Again**

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

_... and crawling on the planet's face  
are insects called the human race  
lost in time and lost in space  
and in meaning._  
"Superhero" from "Rocky Horror Picture Show" 

**Part one: On The Road**

**Chapter 1: A Hard Day's Night **

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

No pride, no honor.   
Your parting words. Now you are gone. How could I not shout at you? I should have done it long times before.   
But I failed in my greatest duty. All my life I wanted to preserve you and your sister from pain and sorrow. You never wanted that you had to know what I lived through.   
And now, there is no more time to repair my fault.

New York, May 7, 1965

It was a very special FBI department, closely connected with the secret service. His major object was to investigate relations between organized crime and spying activities of foreign secret services. The chief, Henry Shatner, was a tall, but slender man with sharp features and dark hair. The agents he chose for his department were selected in perfect compliance with their abilities. In their work, no failure was permitted. He had failed once in another city, but he hada new chance with this special position in New York, only to find out that he had to hunt phantoms again. 

The man from the airport brought them six boxes filled with papers and documents. 

"Please, serve yourself, gentlemen!", The chief gestured to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

"We should have one of those new computers to put all this information into. It would be so much easier." – "They always make us do everything the hard way" 

"The Civil Intelligence Agency is not responsible for criminal research in this country." The chief stopped the discussion ironically. "Let's start. We only have this man's alias_._

For a very long time, there was no other noise than rustling paper. 

***

* * *

I'm not very proud of myself today. I reached the limits of my cigarette consumption within two hours. I lost my temper and kicked a guy in his guts with my knee. My courage flew away with the hours while I was sitting in the Central Park. I'm playing with the newspaper, making binoculars and hats with it. Of course, I would rather read it, search in help wanted ads and circle job offers with my pen. Like other days. 

I was so happy to have found the announcement of this casting call three days ago. A dance casting for a theatre on Broadway. Leonard Bernstein's "West Side Story". My dream. The first time I'd heard the songs from this musical, I wanted to be part of it. Just one time! I had done a lot of interesting projects in the last few years, but this – my heart longed for it.

This morning I though I could make that dream come true. And I had a chance, I know it. The audition started in the morning at 7:30, and I did my very best. I don't mean to be arrogant, but my experiences gave me with the ability to judge other dancers. I knew I was good. It was more important not to be too good because they searched people for the ensemble not for solo dancers. There were three dances for the audition. I passed the first two without problems. 

For the third and last dance they taught us the choreography of a dance we would have to perform with the current members of the ensemble. For the men it was the Fight dance, called "Rumble". The two gangs meet and there is no one to stop this turmoil of violence, passion, hatred, betrayal. _Every fight is like a dance. Distance and intimacy, tension and concentration, action and reaction. Every step is aimed at the same choreography. To strike first and not to be beaten._ Whoever created the choreography understood these things. In the middle of this performance I felt I lost it, I felt I lost the control over my will. The music became all that mattered. And I was transported. 

Then, suddenly, the director stopped the dance. They called me to the edge of the stage. It was like some very strange dream. Me, standing there in the light, breathing heavily, covered with sweat. My hands were shaking until I clenched them. The director of the show said without much expression: "Find me in my office after the end of this audition!" Then I was dismissed, and the others had to start again. In the dressing room I collapsed leaning against the wall. 

I don't remember how long I was sitting there, head on my knees. I should wait before beginning to hope, but my heart was beating so fast. The dream was so near, I could almost touch it. To calm down I smoked the first cigarette today. Finally I stood up to take a shower. I got changed and was just drying my hair, when I noticed that I wasn't alone anymore. 

He was the firstdancer of the ensemble. I don't even know his name. A quite attractive guy with dark brown hair and blue eyes, taller than me, younger than me, the star of the show. It was obvious that he thought he was the center of the universe. I saw him watching me as I pushed my hair up and covered it with my beret.

"You can be proud that you_'_ve impressed them with your - potential, Sweetie, but don't let it go to your head. There is no need for a new star dancer and someone will be very angry if you tookhis place." Perhaps the person in concern was him. That would haveexplained his attitude. Or he just wanted to clarify, right from the start_, _who the boss of the ensemble was. A cat playing with the mouse, not perceiving that the mouse was just in disguise. 

"But if you are a nice guy, I will see to it that the others accept you." 

I preferred to ignore him and tried to leave the room, but he took my arm.

"Would you get your hand off me, please!", I said politely but I felt my body gettin_g _tense immediately. Be cautious, cat!

"You should not be this arrogant, because you could have a very hard time here, if you don't know your position. To begin with, you could show me a little bit of your potential. I'm sure you know how to do amazing things, especially with this." He brushed my lips with his fingers. "Just show me, and things will be fine." 

Fuck off! Just a few words to turn this day into a disaster. I didn't warn him a second time and I didn't holdback. He collapsed, writhing and whimpering, but I didn't care. I took my bag and left. My throat felt raw, and my eyes were burning. I knew I would not come back.

Years ago, I made a vow that I would never, whatever the reasonwas, let someone abuse me again. Not even a dream is worth feeling like shit. Is it? Perhaps I'm a coward not to fight for respect; not to go back and to say that, of course, I want a place in the ensemble. I'm torturing myself with these thoughts, but, to tell the truth, I'm tired of these stupid games. The insolence of this guy was just the foreplay of a real fight with jealousy and rivalry. Violence, passion, hatred, betrayal. Oh yes, I know too much about these things, and that knowledge makes me sick. 

*

My watch says 5 o'clock in the afternoon and I stand up. Time to go home. Home. The beautiful apartment on the Brooklyn Heights.

When I returned to the States one month ago, I swallowed my pride and asked Kumiko if I could live with her little family for a while. I didn't have enough money to stay in a hotel. She tolerates me in her apartment, no less no more, but I know I cannot abuse her generosity longer than one month. I'm still hesitating. What should I do? Settle down in New York or leave again, to go wherever the wind might blow me. San Francisco, perhaps. 

San Francisco is a sort of wonderland for me. Deep in my mind I always carry this sweet memory, one of my first memories, like a precious gift: Kumiko holds my little hand in hers, and we were walking through the streets of this city. A city of lights, colored lights, light chains and decorated trees. We walked through these streets like in a dream. Suddenly a fat man with a white beard who wore strange red clothes gave me chocolate. I shared it with Kumiko, and we continued our walk eating the little present with delight. Warm hands, sweet chocolate and the dreamland of lights. That was Christmas 1940. 

The remembrance of that almost magical evening creates a warm sensation in my stomach and makes me smile. Even my frustration is diminishing a bit. But – perhaps, I should not go to San Francisco. Memories are like dreams. They melt or lose their charm when they come in contact with reality. 

Reality! Lost in my thought I almost miss my subway train, but I reach it at the last minute, just before the door closes. At this hour, the car is so crowded, that people inside are pressed like sardines in a can. The subway leads us through a world as dark and mysterious as the ocean. A submarine under the surface of the ocean. I glanceover the tired faces around me. Looking at other faces, their hidden emotions, dreams, deceptions or hopes, always soothes my feeling of loneliness. 

It's a strange thing, how every human being creates a sort of barrier around them sometimes as strong as steel, sometimes as fragile as a soap-bubble. A vital distance. Letting someone break this vital distance makes one vulnerable, but gives the occasion to hurt the other too. In the last years, I fortified this barrier because it was essential to support my restless life. Perhaps this is the real reason why the insolence of that guy irritated me so much. It was a violent attack to break through my barrier. 

Stop it! The bitter taste of humiliation calls me back to reality. I become aware that I'm staring intothe dim light of the subway tunnel and into my face reflected by the window. It's not really myself I see but the face of a girl next to me, looking at my reflection. She has dark hair, tied in a ponytail, and blue eyes and wears a simple violet costume. A pretty one – the girl. Reminds me of something. Very, very far away in time. Weariness shows on her face, but not too obviously. Her gaze is filled with curiosity and more, but I don't like someone looking at me through mirrors. Not when I'm on the verge of depression. It always wakes up painful memories. 

Suddenly, the girl blushes deeply, realizing that I'm gazing at her too. This is the moment I'm realizing that I know her. But not from a far away time. No, I've met her just some hours before. Perhaps my depression caused me to need so much time to remember her. She had been in the girls group until the last dance. The youngest of them, far less professional than the others and very nervous. I told her that she had talent and that hadmade her blush. 

"Did you get the job, miss?", I ask facing her and smiling. A deep breath and a little shake of her head tell me that she didn't. That was great, idiot! I try to keep smiling, but I feel very sorry for her because she had been really good. "I'm sorry for you!" 

The girl smiles back at me and shrugs as if _she_ was sorry about showing her frustration.

"It's stupid to be sad. It was my first audition. Nobody gets a role on the first try."

"Yes, that's what logic tells you, but I know how much a rejection can hurt." I know that because I failed to get into some important dance schools in New York. I would like to comfort her better, but, today, I don't feel able to give advice. "The pain will certainly pass because you are talented and courageous." I don't really understand why she is beaming this much just for hearing such a – lame and stupid attempt at comfort. 

"What's about you? Did you get it?"

My guts clench in sudden pain. "No." I answer, even managing to smile.

"But –"

"No, I didn't get it." The mask doesn't hold. My voice sounds sharp, even to my ears.

"I'm sorry." Obviously, I have frightened her with my harsh reply, but then she smirks suddenly.

"Your name is Farrel, isn't it?" She asks, I nod. "I hadn't thought about it earlier, but I wanted to thank you."

Surprised, my eyes are widening. "For what?" 

"For the letters you wrote my grand-parents." She explained, and my mouth gapes open. I'm completely stunned now. "Oh, I have to get out at the next stop." The girl interrupts me smiling apologetically and heads for the door. "I used the family name of my grand-mother for the audition. My real name is Karen Kaszowiz. You should visit me sometime." 

Her answer to my surprise is bright laughter. The subway stops and the stream of people leads her away, before I can clear my mind. I see her waving at me and answer similarly. Then the tunnel swallows the sardine can again. 

This was the little Karen? Good grief, she had been six years old when I saw her last. And now she is a full grown young lady. The grand-daughter of my teacher Madame Kaszowiz, and she looks a lot like her grand-mother when she had been young. Of course - everything comes back now - she reminded me of those photos.

I had thought about visiting the Kaszowiz family one of these days. I had some obligations towards them, but, like the other time, in October 1958, when I was in New York, I was too ashamed to see them. It is one thing to write letters to keep contact, but looking into the eyes of people who did so much for me, is another thing. 

In this matter too, I have no reason to be proud of myself.

*

"You have to ask before you ransack my belongings.", I say angrily opening the door of Maggie's study room. She has displayed the contents of my private box on her desk. I know that I had left it in my suitcase before I left and I always carry the key with me. Obviously, she has managed to break open the box with a wire. I should have known that a future surgeon has very steady hands. 

"You weren't here to ask, Shin-chan.", She answers without lifting her head from the desk. I can see that she's looking in a little book. Leaning myself against the doorframe I wait for her questions. 

"I thought I would find your journal and discover your darkest secrets.", She continues with her teasing voice, but I don't answer her little provocation. My darkest secret! Rather difficult to say which secret is the darkest. At the very least she must now know a very obvious secret. 

"Is it a real sword you're hiding in your suitcase?" 

This is the question I've been waiting for. She turns to look at me. A teasing, slight seductive glance in her eyes.

Maria Magdalena Techaco is the daughter of Kumiko's husband Roberto Techaco. In fact, Maggie is the reason why the two finally got together, because Kumiko took care of the girl during her mother's illness and after her death. They were our neighbors. The young assistant doctor, his wife and little Maggie. Now we are family, and she has her own little apartment in the basement. To tell the truth, I'm very fond to her, but Maggie has a rather liberal definition of privacy. 

"Yes, it's a real sword," I answer her question. "but I hope you will not tell Kumiko or your father about this. I don't want them to worry.", I say and I'm surprised that I'm so calm. Talking about swords seems like talking about clothes. 

"What do you want to do with it?" I don't know. "It would be a shame to sell it. Even when you don't know how to use it."

I know how to use it, not perfectly of course, but good enough. Only Maggie doesn't need to know this. 

"No, I wouldn't sell it. I don't think that it's valuable_. _I mean financially. Its value is rather symbolic, because it is a special sword. The blades are reversed."

"You have gotten the journal too?" Maggie takes the little book. "Is it written in Japanese? And you know to read it?"

"Yes, yes and yes, but not easily." I reply, and she smiles, putting the journal back in the box. "Will you tell me sometime about it and about the photos, Shin-chan?" She hands me the box. Then she brushes her long black hair with a lazy move of her left hand. "Tonight we don't have time for this, Shin-chan. Tonight we're going out."

"Good grief!" 

The determination in Maggie's voice forbids every negative answer whatever the reason might be. 

"It's quite necessary because we need to celebrate your return, and we had no occasion to do it until now." That is true, because Maggie hadn't had one free week-end since my arrival. She glances seductively at me. "Will you accompany me?" 

It's just a rhetorical question, I know it. However, I could need some distraction after this today. If I should stay alone at home tonight, I would certainly get depressed. 

"If it makes you happy." 

She brushes my cheek. 

"You are as nice as ever, Shin-chan." 

I smile back at her. 

"Where will we go?"

Her face gets a mysterious expression while she taps my cheek with a gentle hand. "It's a surprise, but I don't want to torture you too much. Yes, I think I can tell you that we will go to a concert club called Velvet and Blue-jean'. And," Her smile grows larger, accentuated by a mischievous glint in her eyes. "you will have fun. Trust me!"

Fun? Good grief! We haven't seen each other for six years, and I really cannot imagine how she would define fun. To tell the truth, I'm a bit scared, but atthe same time I feel another sensation coiling in my stomach. Excitement. 

"Why do I think that it would be wiser to be careful?" 

"Don't be too prudent, Shin-chan. Just trust me!" 

Maggie laughs warningly. Then she bats her eyelashes and starts pushing me gently out of her room. 

"Be a nice guy now and go in the kitchen to prepare dinner. I have to study."

The door of the little apartment is shut before my face. I find myself smiling. Whatever she is planning for tonight, I'm sure it will be interesting. Besides she is right anyway. Kumiko will return from work a few minutes. She works for a Citizen's Rights Agency and is usually weary when she returns. Roberto would not come back before 11 at night, but then he would be hungry too and had better find something to put in the oven quickly. Time to prepare dinner.

*

After dinner_,_ we start the preparations for the night. I choose the silk shirt with a stand-up collar and the dark blue, velvet jacket with golden embroidery on the sleeves. It's my favorite, and it has pockets large enough to hide a switch blade in the one, tobacco and leaves in the other. One moment I hesitate to add the silver chain I often wear with my belt. Perhaps I overdo it a little, but my instinct tells me that I should put it on. Last I push my hair up that only the shorter bangs falling over my forehead and to the sides. My black, velvet beret covers the rest. I don't know if Maggie will like this outfit, but I am very satisfied. 

Then I wait for Maggie. I'm somewhat nervous. It has been a very long time since I went out with someone just to have fun. I go in the kitchen, Kumiko is reading the "Village Voice". Sometimes, she must be hit by nostalgia. She nods when I ask her permission to smoke. I open the balcony door a little bit and lean myself against the frame. She doesn't pay any attention to me, or perhaps she is searching for something to say, like me. Every time when we are alone in a room, the atmosphere is tense. I find no words to speak to her. Sometimes I wish so badly that I could talk to her about my worries, like I did when I was a child, or that she would talk to me about politics or books like before. But I don't know how to begin and still avoid the things standing between us. 

Though, I love her very much. She saved my life after the death of my parents and cared for me like a true mother, or an elder sister. Nobody would believe what a strong mind is hidden behind her delicate appearance. She is even smaller than I am, and her features are finely shaped. At forty-three, some wrinkles are visible and they result from laughing as much as from worrying. Like all our Japanese relatives I know, she has a crimson taint in her brown hair. And then, there are her eyes. Strange violet eyes. Like mine. Sometimes, when she is watching me carefully, thinking I wouldn't notice her gaze, it feels as if I look at myself with my own eyes. To see the greatest deception in her life. 

An apparition breaks the tension. A real apparition. However Maggie had tried to provoke me today was nothing compared to her appearance tonight. Despite her seductive looks or mischievous smiles, I hadn't understood until this moment that Maggie wasn't a girl anymore. Even when I was twenty-two, the last time I saw her, the difference of five years, was a whole life. Now, it is nothing. Maggie has become a splendid beautiful young woman. She's wearing a dark red dress, a long black cloak and long gloves. Her hair falls around her like a shimmering silk haze. Her make up is perfect and makes her seductive and distant at the same time. A beauty to incite the jealousy of even a Hollywood actress.

I don't know what to say. 

"You're looking so gorgeous, Shin-chan." The mask of the divine beauty melts in a pleasant smile. "Why don't you sweep me up onto your white horse and we'll elope?"

I feel embarrassed, but I just give her my largest smile instead of a real answer.

*

"You must have a bunch of admirers.", I say to her, later, when we are on the way. 

We have taken Maggie's red Chevy, but she doesn't let me drive. And after a while, I understand very well why. She loves being the beautiful woman in an elegant car. I can see how the eyes of the men follow her. Maggie herself showsno sign of attention, but I know she must sense it. _I_ would feel it. Well, they look at me too, though not in the way I would like. They just ask themselves how a guy like me could have a girlfriend like her. If they don't take me for a girl, anyway, but that's not how I like it.

Smiling, Maggie lifts a warning finger.

"This is a very naughty question, Shin-chan. What about you?"

"What?" 

I know my face is turning bright red. Of course, I have perfectly understood her question, but – 

"Let's play a little game!" ,Maggie proposes smirking. "I answer your question, then you answer my question and so on, as long as you want to play." I don't know what to say, but a sick feeling is building in my stomach. Maggie laughs teasingly. "Chicken! It was you who started to get naughty."

I'm not a chicken, but - . "Okay!" Taking a deep breath, I join my hands in my lap. "Do you have many admirers?"

"Yes, I have, but most of them are cowards." She still smiles as if it was a joke, but there is a slight sadness in her eyes. "Do you know, Shin-chan, how many guys just want a little housewife at university? I have to choose carefully or I will be trapped later." 

She doesn't give me time to think about her words. Sadness passes quickly, and her almost wicked smile promises me embarrassment without end. Since she has proposed this game some minutes before, I knew she had a specific goal in mind. I knew that, in some mysterious way, she found it out without Kumiko, or her father, or me telling her. "My turn, Shin-chan. Do you think I'm pretty?" 

"Pretty?" I bite my lips to prevent me from laughing. This is not the question I suspected she would ask. "That is a real understatement."

"You like me? Really?" I just lift an eyebrow. "Shin-chan? Do you want to kiss me?"

"That was four questions." Then the true meaning of her last question touches the depth of my mind. "What?"

"You have no permission to answer with a question, Shin-chan." I lean over and kiss her cheek. She smells sweet, and her skin feels more heated as I thought. A very nice girl, not half as coldhearted as she was thought to be. A lonely girl, because most of men are scared to death by women which are beautiful, intelligent and facetious. "Was that supposed to be a kiss, Shin-chan? Obviously, you have never kissed before?"

"Hey, it is my turn.", Interrupting her questioning, I glance over at her. Maggie is looking like a little kid doing something deliciously forbidden. Even in the night I see her face flushing with a certain excitement, and there is this smile. "Why do you want me to accompany you tonight?" 

"Cheater!" Her laughter warns me not to mess with her. "Besides the fact that I want to surprise you, I need you to do a test."

"What kind of a test?"

"My turn, Shin-chan!" I sink lower in my seat, faking a painful sigh. Maggie passes another car with swift elegance, before she asks her question. "So did you kiss before? I mean, a woman?"

I lift my eyebrow at the additional question. Then I lean my head back. 

"Yes, I did. I kissed one girl." 

I decide to let her think about this a bit. Normally, I don't speak so openly. Out of shame, but for discretion. Love and friendship have limits, more or less strict, but they exist. But, hearing Maggie teasing me like this, is a bit reassuring. My answer makes her speechless for a few moments. 

"Who?" 

"Don't get me wrong, but that is not your business. Anyway. Generally, I prefer kissing guys." 

The truth came out before I could stop myself. Again we sit in silence. My throat is dry, and, suddenly, I feel that familiar emotion emerging. Once more I am afraid of losing the affection of a person I care very deeply about. I don't look at Maggie, and rather absently, I notice that we have passed Houston Avenue now. For a second, the delightful idea that this club might be in the Village distracts me from my sorrow. When my eyes drift back to Maggie's face, I see her chewing her bottom lip. She glances back, just as amused as before. 

"Do you feel better now?"

"When did you find it out?"

"In my first year at High School. You still had a reputation there. But, you know, I was a silly girl. I said that you do not play music instruments. They had to explain the details to me, and so they did. After giving them a few weeks of fun to tease me with idiotic innuendo, I found the perfect answer. First, I told one of those jokers, that having a bad reputation was better than having no reputation at all. Second, I said, that I was very sorry for them, because Shin-chan doesn't play piccolo flutes. After this I had a big reputation too. The sharpest tongue in the school. – what?" My mouth is gaping open. Good grief, Maggie! The rumor was not true anyway. In that time, I was by far too shy and too confused to do such things, although nobody believed me. Certainly, I was not as sharp-tongued as Maggie, every suggestion made me furious. And she was only twelve. I have to take a deep breath because I'm feeling suffocated. 

"And do you play the woman's part when you do it with someone?"

My tongue is faster than my brain. An almost automatic reaction. "I don't _play_ the woman's part. For the very simple reason that I'm not a woman. I -"

"You love to be top." Maggie is finishing my phrase. 

"Not exclusively, but –"

While I speak I realize how ridiculous this situation is. After sneaking around the matter so long, I ended up discussing positions. I burst out laughing before I can finish my explanation. A very violent attack of laughter, cramping my stomach and filling my eyes with tears. It takes me some time to get calm. Finally, I wipe my face. 

"Shin-chan, you are just perfect." I notice that Maggie has stopped the car and reaches over to brush my cheek. "First, I thought you might be too soft, but you are just perfect."

"For - what?" 

My voice is still unsteady, but I feel really good now.

"To be a surprising target. For my test subjects."

Well, at the time when I had newly discovered the joy of a gay sex life, coming out of my self-made isolation like a butterfly leaving his cocoon, I loved these games. Looking for attention, chasing guys, just for fun, to satisfy my vanity. Now it is different. Too much happened and I had lost my playful innocence. Besides - 

"Maggie, I'm not so sure, if this would be a good idea. I –"

Maggie takes my chin and turns my face to her. The light in her eyes and her smile tell me that, strangely, she is very satisfied with my reaction. 

"Don't worry. I know how much you loved this man. The photographer who made the picture of you playing with a kite." This photograph is hung over her bed. Blown up to the size of a movie poster. Every time I see it, I tell her to take it down. Not only because I felt embarrassed to see myself in such a picture, but because I want those memories to stay buried. "I understand that you want to stay loyal." That is not the point! "That is why I will never be disgusted with your sexual preferences. Whatever you are, first and last you are Shin-chan. Discrete, generous, loving, charming." My face must be the same color as my hair. "But being lonely and sad all this time is not good for you. Besides that, some of the test subjects are really gorgeous." 

Against my will, I feel myself grinning at the thought. Don't be so superficial, idiot!

So what? It doesn't matter. The phantom is gone. That is the only thing what matters.

*

The "Velvet and Blue-jean" is located on a little street north of the Washington Square, in the Village. It is a combination of a theatre, a bar and a dance club and very charming. Dim light is flashing around us when we enter, passing the two bouncers who greet Maggie familiarly. I think, normally they have two rooms, the bar and the theatre, but now it is just one big hall. The middle is empty. Well, not really empty, because people are filling the theatre. The stage is dark. 

First we go to the bar. Maggie knows the barkeeper called Simon O'Sullivan and introduces me. He is a very young guy, extremely polite and cheerful. Maggie tells me that he is responsible for the food and drinks. I order whiskey on the rocks, and Maggie wants a cocktail with an umbrella. 

We are still drinking, when a spot light focuses on the drummer, and the audience starts screaming and clapping their hands. What I can see at this distance is a rather slender man with long black hair and fine features. Attractive and somewhat melancholic. He seems to be an American Indian. 

"This is Kay, Kay Blackhawk." Maggie is whispering in my ear. So he is an Indian. "He writes most of the lyrics."

And he plays the drums. Heartbeat rhythm with lighter accents. Acceleration. It's a rhythm tugging at my nerves. Run away, run away! The impression of a growing beat and growing tension is intensified when, suddenly, the bass guitar comes along. The second spot light breaks through the darkness, in its center a tall man is standing. His dark hair falls almost over his eyes. Closed eyes. His features are very beautiful, but he shows no emotion. He is playing as if he was alone. Absorbed in the music. In a trance. He is wearing a classic black suit in combination with something tight and shimmering underneath. Perhaps leather. Wow! Last but not least, he has a pretty ass. 

"Arthur Sherman," Maggie's explication is accompanying my own observations. "he composes and arranges, he's an amazing musician. He plays piano, guitar and a lot of other instruments. And he owns part of this theatre. Sometimes he writes lyrics too."

"For a band called Rock the cat', these guys are very gloomy."

I just want to tease her, because, in truth, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Handsome guys coming out of the dark. Maggie laughs mockingly. 

It takes just few seconds for me to understand why. 

_If we meet tonight  
I won't say no.  
If we dance tonight  
I won't say no ..._

It's the sexiest voice I ever heard. Well modulated, intensive, electrifying. The third man stands backwards to the audience when the light is flashing at him. He is wearing a black leather jacket with three silvery letters forming the word BAD. His hair cut is a somewhat original parody of an ordinary rocker cut. More spiky.

..._ Please, don't leave me,  
don't leave me so unsatisfied  
And stay with me tonight!_

For the repetition of these last lines he turns around and adds the lead guitar to drums and bass. He wears no shirt at all, revealing caramel tainted skin. All parts of his body which I can see are perfectly formed, firm and graceful. He has the face of a charming, but also naughty boy. Parents could serve him up as an example of a bad company. Unmistakably, he sees himself that way, too.

_If we drink tonight_  
_I won't say no  
If we kiss tonight   
I won't say no ... _

"Sam Sherman, he is Arthur's cousin, adopted." That is all what Maggie says. Well, I can see his major job is to drive the girls crazy, and he does it with perfection. If his sex appeal were electricity, it would be over a hundred volts. "We should go nearer to the stage." 

..._ Please, don't let leave me,  
don't leave me so unsatisfied  
And stay with me tonight!_

I would prefer to watch at this distance, but I don't want Maggie to go alone and nod at her suggestion. We make our way through the crowd until we stand just on the left side of the stage with a good view of the band. The nearest man is Arthur who still plays with his eyes closed. 

_I run through the streets,  
I search for you, love.  
Where have you gone?_  
_Where have you gone  
Leaving me this helpless?  
I cannot sleep   
Without your touch on my face._

Suddenly, the drummer, Kay Blackhawk, turns his eyes our way, and I see a slight smile accompanied by a nod in our direction, barely visible. But the gaze of his dark eyes has changed, there is warm light now. This look isn't flirty but a declaration of love. I'm not vain enough to think that I might be the reason. Nobody would look like this at a stranger. I glance at Maggie. She has this gaze of the distant diva on her face and smiles knowingly. 

_You set me on fire,  
I'm longing so deeply  
I'm longing for you.  
Please, help me, my love,  
and I'll give to you  
all that you want._

While one song is following another, I become heady with delightful excitement. They are playing a good mixture of famous songs and obviously their own compositions. 

*

_Poisonous love,  
sweet poison,  
falling with you  
is so intoxicating ..._

At least it's this voice which is intoxicating me. In my profession, I'm used reacting to music and rhythm. This can be a major handicap, because, sometimes, like now, the music is transporting me in a strange sort of ecstasy. The mix of a heated atmosphere, a crowd of excited young people, this music and this voice has an embarrassing effect. I'm noticing it when, suddenly I feel pressed against the wood of the stage from behind. My pants grow too tight. Or me too big. How ridiculous! This is supposed to happen to a sixteen-years-old boy, but not to me. 

Sam is showing off for the audience, moving his hips like the "King" himself. No, better. Whenever he interrupts his singing for a guitar solo, he uses all the space on the stage to move. I suppose he could do a solo performance, while making believe that the stage is filled with people. Over and over again he picks out selected people – girls – from the crowd to flirt with. And for a few moments, his eyes meet mine, sparkling brown, curious and flirting. Does he know that I'm not a girl? I sense my cheeks really burning now, I'm feeling feverish. This is not happening, this is not reality. This is not me, highly aroused and flirting like this. I haven't done such things for years. Sam Sherman is grinning with wicked satisfaction, before his gaze breaks away from mine. 

At the same moment, I notice that Arthur has opened his eyes. They are blue, blue like the sky, and they look at me too. Unveiling such familiar emotions. Loneliness. Desperation. He's watching me as if he is recognizing a long lost person. The intensive gaze makes me shiver. The sensation is a bit more than I could stand it in my present condition. I need to go out for a few minutes, to take a breath. It had happened before, that my senses were enflamed so easily. Giving people a good reason to consider me promiscuous. But I thought I had gotten over this. I thought I would be wiser now.

"I will be back soon!", I whisper in Maggie's ear. She looks at me with a curious gaze, but I give no further explanations.

*

Fresh air is good for my nerves, good to cool the heat inside me. Finally, I smile, having a sudden idea about Maggie's test. Obviously, that Kay Blackhawk is in love with her. Whatever Maggie is thinking about it, she cannot be clueless. I don't think that she needs me to test him. The others. Well! Arthur knew that I'm not a girl. No doubt. Just thinking about it causes my blood to rush faster through my body. Damned fickle senses. Why? On similar occasions in the last few years, I had no problems in keeping my self-control. Tonight, I'm the helpless prey of my lower body.

Sighing, I return inside searching for the lavatories. I lock myself in one of the stalls, trying to think about something disgusting.

"How many?" 

A masculine voice revealing urgent need reaches my ear.

"Fifty bucks." 

There is a second voice, calm and business-like, and then I hear a rustling noise. A lot of disgusting thoughts cross my mind, provoking a turmoil of nausea, fury and dread. I pull my pants up. Someone is leaving the room in the same moment when I'm coming out of the toilet. 

The remaining man is bend over a washtub with a little mirror and a razor. Forming a line of white powder. My first urge is to grip the mirror and throw all the shit in the toilet, before he can take it himself. Though, my body stays frozen. Taking it away from him. That's what I should do. But – 

I just stay and watch him, until he lifts his head with a dreamlike smile on his face. 

"Hey, this is the men's room." He says stupidly amused when he passes me. 

I don't even get angry at this suggestion, I stare at him then at my reflection in the mirror. I know what my eyes tell me about it. Coward! With a furious scream I take my knife and throw it against the glass. Cracking lines are forming a sort of spider net. Coward and pathetic! Now, it's too late. Heavily breathing, I pick up the knife and put it back in my pocket. Then, I wash my hands and my face.

The concert is still on, but I go to the bar instead returning to Maggie. I could not look at her like that. The smiling barkeeper gives me another whiskey on the rocks, and, almost unconsciously, I start to roll a cigarette. 

_One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road.  
You're a stranger in this city,  
a stranger in this life.  
What do you search,   
when the sun is set,   
and the streets are filled with shadows?  
One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road  
And I'll know who you are._

Absorbed as I am, I don't realize immediately that I know this song. Not the song, but the words. I'm less shocked than I would be on an ordinary day. But, everything that happened today and tonight has brought about such an emotional turmoil. Now, I'm just feeling a slightly disturbing confusion.

_And I will never forget_,  
_that in your eyes   
is so much fire,  
a fire of love and compassion.  
And I will never forget  
how these eyes know   
to laugh, to dream, to fight, to love._

They sing it together. How could they? How could they know how it should sound? 

_One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road.  
You are a pretty butterfly  
captured in this net.  
How does it feel,  
the pain of this nail,   
pinning you in this box with velvet ornaments?  
One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road  
And I'll know how you feel._

_And I will never forget,  
that in your eyes   
is so much fire,  
a fire of love and compassion.  
And I will never forget  
how these eyes know   
to laugh, to dream, to fight, to love._

As long as the song continues, anger is building inside me. A bitter taste is on my tongue. Where did they find these words? It was supposed to be private. Who could have published the poem? Him? To punish me for leaving him? I did it for his own sake, for fuck's sake. 

_One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road.  
Your are a bird  
fallen to earth.  
I hope you will  
someday fly again  
whenever I heal these broken wings.  
One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road,  
and I'll see how you fly. _

Suddenly I forget my anger. Wherever they found the poem, if it was this Arthur Sherman who wrote the music, he has transported the very dear soul of the writer. Too good even. It's not anger I feel, it's distress. The pain is still so fresh, weighting on my chest. 

_And I will never forget,  
that in your eyes   
is so much fire,  
a fire of love and compassion.  
And I will never forget  
how these eyes know   
to laugh, to dream, to fight, to love._

The sound of the glass shattering in my hand is calling me back to reality, whiskey dripping in tiny cuts provokes fresher pain. I wipe my hand on my thighs, cursing, then apologizing for breaking the glass. The barkeeper looks at me surprised, smiling.

"Don't worry, mister! Glasses break every night." Humming, he is filling up glasses with beer. His voice sounds strange, child-like, as if he is amazed at how strangely human beings behave. "Are you hurt?"

"Not really."

Finally, I decide to go back to Maggie. She is looking a bit worried, when I touch her back to signal my return. But I manage to smile, and she turns back to the stage.

*

The show goes on in its special way. Sam drives the audience crazy with his voice and his grace, Kay is brilliant at the drums and Arthur is playing just for me. I still like it but I'm too tense now to lose myself in the music. 

Then, suddenly, something completely unreal happens. The music is stopping abruptly, and Sam is handing Arthur the guitar. With only guitar and drums, they are starting to play the intro for Rock Around The Clock', while Sam is going to the edge of the stage. Hands of screeching girls try to reach his legs, but he is coming to me, grips my beret and hooks his finger, smiling.

"You have won the beauty contest. You are permitted to dance with me."

Idiot! 

I'm not a girl. They will kill me! 

Seconds are going by while I'm stuck between anger, fear and – interest. A dance!

The singer is waving my beret, reaching out with the other hand. Eyes like chocolate. I love chocolate, I take his hand and follow him. Sam guides me to the middle of the stage, smiling. Now, I'm very sure, that he knows what he is doing. He knows that he will dance with a guy. I hope he knows how to dance too. 

He is quite talented. 

After a few difficult moments I start to love it. I forget my unease, my frustration. This is not Bernstein or "West Side Story", but I'm on stage, and I can feel the tension of the people, their stupor and enchantment. And I can sense that my partner gets better with time, and I don't have to struggle anymore against the urge to take the control. His gaze has changed from flirt to something I cannot discern. I smile at him, because, without understanding it, he has saved this day. Dancing is life for me, and this moment is a sweet reward for all the other things. 

I want this never to end. But, finally, the music ends and, we stand still. Very, very close. I can feel his bare chest under my fingers, his breathing, his warm skin. The sensation of this feeling is so overwhelming that I close my eyes and relax. Fool, fool! Don't forget it! Keep your distance! I take a deep breath and open my eyes again. 

"Thank you!" I say looking up at him, and there is a strange expression on his face. Confusion and slight embarrassment. As if he wanted to say something, to explain this unreal situation. Against my will, I feel a strong tenderness. "Thank you for the dance!" I repeat, my voice sounding damned husky. 

He is returning to reality immediately, faster than me, because, suddenly, he gets this expression of a hotly flirting guy looking for easy prey. He uses a professional, seductive voice: "You did like it, didn't you? How would you like if we had a more private dance? Later." 

Fuck yourself! I only think it. I'm a professional. Losing my temper on stage is unacceptable for me. I smile as sweetly as I can and pull my beret from his pocket. Then I let him guide me back to the edge of the stage. The audience is raging – in enthusiasm. It's one of those rare moments, I consider my girlish looks very useful. 

Maggie's gaze is quite interesting. Mocking smile and lifted eyebrows. I could swear I saw redder taints on the cheeks of this arrogant guy before he turns around. Arthur glances at him with deadly and icy fury when he gives him back the guitar. More interesting. The anger of the one is just provoking a grin from the other. It's a fucking contest. A who-pisses-who-off-first contest. 

But it doesn't influence the show. The show goes on, or rather reaches its end. 

For the conclusion and the final climax, I suppose, Sam strips his jacket and finishes the audience definitively off with the movement of his hips. Sexy! A fucking macho! Far too self confident for his own good. Someone who always needs to prove his manhood. 

Meanwhile I surprise the pair of blue eyes watching me intensively. The man is attracting and repelling atthe same time. How could he dare to look at me as if we had something and as if he surprised me cheating on him?

Ice and fire. 

In that second, I decide not to depart with my tail between my legs as I wanted just a few moments before. Not a second time on the same day. No, being the prize in this fucking contest will offer me the best distraction I could want. Only they don't really know their target. They will be far more careful when I'm done with them, and I will have a lot of fun tonight. Thinking about sex is better than thinking about drugs. 

The band plays the last song, then the audience applauds loudly and they play two additional songs. After this, the light is suddenly dim. Sam reappears a last time, carrying a saxophone. Strange change! Now he is just a nice young man, standing in a somewhat orange light. He improvises a suite of variations of "As Time Goes By". 

_You must remember this   
A kiss is just a kiss,   
a sigh is just a sigh ..._

The expression on his face is very different now. Now he doesn't show off for the audience. There's no need, he has the attention of all these young people thanks only to his talent. It's like the dance, this strange, almost magical moment. Perhaps he is more than just a sexy sucker. He should be, because Maggie likes him. 

**Author's note:**

This is a complete rearrangement of the chapters, and apart some changes in the chapters, the author's notes are the most affected part.

1. Let's talk about the story! I don't want to spoil my own story, but I want to give some explications in advance. The major difference between the RK universe and my story is that the question of physical strength has no impact on this story. It is not a story about invincible warriors. Fights will come up, but there is no search for the strongest. The characters will be affected by this decision, but I try my best to keep them IC. 

2. Let's talk about the characters! After every chapter will follow a section describing one character and some of my ideas. Even if you should believe that my hero might to be very OOC in this chapter, I think it is too early to explain my perception of Kenshin's character. I limit my explanation to two things: No, he has no scar on his face. I have thought about it, and if or why he could have gotten it. But, in the end, I have decided against it. The inner logic of this story doesn't permit it, because he could not really be a ballet dancer with it. The marks of his past will be other ones. The fact that he smokes is one of them. You don't need to flame me, because I know that smoking is not good for health. Please, don't be offended by my decisions!

3. Let's talk about the characters (II)!: Here's the concordance of the characters who have already appeared in this story besides the hero of course: H. Shatner (Saitou), Karen (Kaoru), Maggie (Megumi), Simon O'Sullivan (Soujiro), Kay (Katsu), Arthur (Aoshi), Sam (Sano).

Kumiko (in the previous versions of the story I didn't use her first name, but I have made a new decision.) is my most important original character. Though, she plays some roles which are normally played by Seijuro Hiko. She is the person who can still make Shin-chan feel like a child.

4. Let's talk about the Journal: Well, I don't really want to explain everything in this chapter, but I have a strong reason to keep the Journal section, because it gives the story a larger meaning. I had already started to post a version without it and realized quickly, that, immediately, something is missing in the story. The Journal creates a additional link between the characters of Rurouni Kenshin and the characters in my story, because it serves as a mirror. The historical background is the war between Russia and Japan in the mentioned year.

5. Let's talk about New York (background information)!: Personally I have never been to the city, but I carefully studied its topography. Sometimes real places and buildings will appear to give some impressions. People living in New York may pardon me major errors. Anyway, the city is just a frame for my purely fictional story like the Japan of the Meiji era serves as a frame for the original story. But advice is always very welcome. Especially if I could find detailed photos of the Village, Chelsea, or SoHo made in the time where the story is set. 

"The Village Voice" is a rather famous newspaper of Greenwich Village.

Revised: 17-10-2002 

Revised: 27-01-2003


	2. Chapter 2: Rock Around The Clock

**Disclaimer: **Rurouni Kenshin doesn't belong to me. I just use the characters, and the plot for my own fun.

****

**Falling in Love Again**

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

****

(A/N: Warnings for language!!! and allusions to sex between men)

**Chapter 2: Rock Around The Clock **

**Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1905)**

The wind, especially, when it is blowing from the ocean, carrying with it the scent of far away things, always reminds me of him.   
Never said words. 

**New York, May 8, 1965**

It wasn't one of the names they were looking for, but he interrupted his research. This name appearing on the passenger list of a flight from Tokyo recalled a flow of unbidden memories. How many years had it been that he had lost the traces of this man? But he still felt the bitterness and the anger of his failure. He had failed to nail this man once and for all, before he was out of reach for the FBI or the secret service. Could it be coincidence, that the man came back just now? His experience had taught him to consider even the strangest indication. 

Henry Shatner picked up his phone and dialed a number. His best man. "Cagney, this is headquarters. Yes, I know it's late, but you're still awake, like I thought. Would you do me a favor? Yes, I think you would like it. Can you collect some information about a man called Kenneth Farrel? F-A-R-R-E-L. An American-Japanese. He arrived from Japan, April 31, at 14:37. Just find out if there was something special with his papers or the passage! Alright. night!" He dropped the receiver and smoked silently in the already hazy room. But just for a few minutes. Then he looked at his watch and dialed another, very long, number. This time to join Los Angeles.

"Here is Chief Henry Shatner, New York. It's you, Kate? How are you? Im fine too, busy as usual. I would you like to send me the documents about Farrel. Yes, Kenneth Farrel. I don't know, I just want to be more careful this time. Prevention is better than cure. What? That is true. Yes, I would be grateful if you could send me that document too." 

***

Arthur's still pissed off, and it's very funny to see him, swallowing his primal emotions. He wants to beat me senseless, but he doesn't. Besides, I wouldn't let him do it so easily. So he just kills me with his eyes while he's sipping some water. Kay and me are drinking beer, chilling out in the dressing-room. We have already packed the instruments in Kay's pick-up. I need a shower, but that's for later. I'm too tired to stand up now. I need some coffee too. 

"You shouldn't have done this." Kay says finally, halfway lying on the red couch. The well-used red couch. I know that Kay is right. Dancing with Cutie was not a real good idea, but I wanted him to be as loose as before. Before he left his place, after Arthur's sudden awakening.

Arthur! Cutie is exactly the kind of guy fitting in the strange wonderland where Arthur lives. A land made up of Gothic novels and symbolist pictures, crowded with unearthly creatures. Sometimes I pity him a bit, cause he doesn't know how to express his feelings. He's unable to say that he wants a guy, or a girl. But most of time it makes me want to provoke him. And this time I have a fucking good instrument provoke him, this time he has manifested his emotions. Cutie – bright eyes and flushed face, a girl-like guy with long red hair wearing some fantasy clothes. I'm quite curious how far Arthur will go if he's so obviously interested. However, even without this occasion to tease Arthur, I think Cutie is worth a check. I grow heady when I imagine, how amazing it would be to screw him. 

Though for the dance, I didn't think about this. Strangely, I almost forgot my intention, and I certainly forgot that Maggie was not supposed to know about me being gay. The only wish I had now was to bring back the light and the rapture in his eyes. It's sentimental and ridiculous, I so know it. 

The voice of reason calls me back. "Are you listening to me, Sam? You cannot dance openly with another guy in this club, we had a deal about it." 

"Nobody has even noticed." I make just a little effort to justify myself. "They all thought he was a girl." 

Kay sighs. "This is not the point, Sam. You know very well, that we could have big problems if someone tells the police that the "Velvet" might be a meeting point for gay people. They would use the occasion for unexpected raids." This man's just being reasonable, but being reasonable doesn't fit with my philosophy. "And you know that they will find some suspicious people. That would be reason enough to close this club."

I pretend to yawn: "Don't try to frighten me. Besides, I thought Simon's friends would protect us. You pay them enough, don't you, Arthur?" 

That's one of the things, I don't understand about Arthur. At first glance, he seems not to be the kind of guy who would pay protection money, but then Simon and Brian convinced him to do it. Perhaps, they got money from "the family" for purchasing this theatre and for the repairs. Sometimes, "the family" was quite generous, offering money or jobs. Easy money. I did some jobs for them too, but I prefer to stay a freelancer, caring only for my own business. 

"Don't even dare to mess with me like this." Arthur says icily. "What you did was unprofessional. We had an agreement, that, this time, you would invite Maggie to dance. She's a good dancer as you know. What would you have done, if that man had messed it up?" 

That was the only risk I took, but, unlike the others, I had heard Maggie repeating regularly that her "Shin-chan" was a professional dancer. Nobody could deny it, having seen him dance, the audience had sensed it. I had to grasp it very clearly. He forced me to be as perfect as possible, cause he's an extraordinary dancer. It has been a very long time since I felt so scared. But I will have my revenge, that sweet little butt, and his cute face will look even cuter, flushed with heat for me. For me, not for Arthur.

"Stop mocking me, Sam!" Can he read my mind? "Sometimes I think that you should leave the band. You're too irresponsible."

I get angry too. "Stop baiting me, Arthur! What kind of show would you do without me, you two? Tame political folk music?" Arthur only snorts disgustedly then he heads for the bathroom. He has promised Brian to play the DJ after the concert. He doesn't like dancing anyway. I stand up to get another beer. "Asshole!"

Kay shakes is head, but he has no right to say one fucking word. He should have defended me. Expel me from the band? How could this bastard even dare to make such a suggestion? 

"Do you have plans for tonight?" Kay asks finally. How can he even ask so stupidly? I don't answer. Kay smirks. "Perhaps he was just too confused to refuse your offer. Perhaps he isn't gay at all."

This is one of the reasons why I like Kay this much: He treats my preferences as if it were a normal way of life. He jokes about it in the same way as he jokes about his own sex life. Or as he did, before he fell desperately for Maggie. 

"You mean if he's bi. Like Arthur." That makes him laugh. He's laughing every time I tell him that Arthur is bi. He doesn't believe me. For him, Arthur's just strange and needs some very nice girl to comfort him. "Who knows? But, to tell the truth, I'm sure that Cutie's gay a hundred pro. Besides, he's already lost to my charm." I continue, and Kay's grin becomes more ironic. "Such a sweet thing! Did you see his butt? Looks good enough to eat?. And he's wearing silver chains around his neck _and_ around his waist. He just cries for my attention with every fucking movement. No, I know he will beg for it."

While speaking, I note that Kay starts chewing his lower lip, a very odd expression on his face. Then I'm hit by a handbag, and the beer splashes over my chest and my pants. 

"You should hear yourself, idiot." Maggie's standing beside my chair, and again she hits my head with her handbag. I stand up rapidly and begin to search for something to wipe my pants. Maggie goes past me, not deigning to look at me. Not even a disgustedly. "Hi, Kay! You must have a headache from listening to all the stupid words of this moron. Sorry, that I didn't believe you about his one track dirty mind. Guess, you won!"

"Hi, Maggie! I'm very glad to win." Kay says, and he's smiling like an idiot. Winning what? And why? I have the strange impression I have missed something in the last weeks. Could it be that they got together without me noticing? "Would you introduce us to the guest star?"

Traitor! Kay, you fucking bastard, you should have warned me! I spin around, and there _he _is, leaning against the doorframe. Eyes partly hidden behind these fiery red bangs framing his face. So delicate and sweet, even in the ugly light of the dressing-room. Sweet, sweet Cutie! I should be ashamed cause he must have heard all my chatting, but he still looks so pretty, by far too cute for his own good. Then he lifts his head a bit more and smiles. Immediately effective! Arthur chooses the very same moment to leave the bathroom. I see him swallow but he regains his composure very fast. 

"Hi, Maggie! Nice to meet you, - your name is Farrel isn't it?" How can he know this? "My name is Arthur Sherman."

Cutie enters our little circle of embarrassed persons. "Nice to meet you too! Yes, my name is Kenneth Farrel. I'm Maggie's brother, kind of." He explains. Kenneth? Why the hell does she call him Shin-chan? He's very polite and shakes hands with every one. He's smiling brightly and innocently, even when he squeezes my hand. He doesn't comment on my words. Perhaps he's not angry at all, cause he knows that I said the truth. 

Kay goes into the bathroom to fresh up, still grinning. He's been in love with Maggie for two years, but until now, she didn't show any sign of interest. Who knows how things could change?

"I would like to thank you, Farrel," Arthur, Arthur! He's looking so tense. Obviously, he has problems with how to deal with Cutie, being so near him. "for having contributed to our show. All your drinks are on the house."

Cutie laughs a bit, a soft chuckle. "Thank you, but I don't want to abuse your generosity." A slight flush taints his cheeks. Surely he's referring to more than the dance. I like to see him blushing even if it's for some thoughts about Arthur. How can I find something to embarrass you a bit, Cutie? 

"Don't be so modest, Shin-chan!" 

Thank you, Maggie! This is working. I'm wondering what he's thinking about, blushing like this. 

"Do as you wish!" Arthur's shrugging. "Unfortunately, I have to leave you, please, make yourselves comfortable for as long as you like."

He leaves, and I see that Maggie wants to leave too. "Come on, Shin-chan, let's go dancing! Kay will join us later. Perhaps we will put up with the presence of this idiot too." 

She rushes by me, acting like the Queen of England. Cutie smiles and nods. Then he looks at me, raising an eyebrow, while Maggie opens the door to the hall.

_Come on, baby, let's do the twist ... _

"Would you mind if I left my jacket here?" Cutie asks, accompanied by the sound of the music. "It's quite annoying to dance wearing it."

"I don't mind." I say, waiting for Maggie to depart. Just a few seconds with Cutie! Just to prepare for the fun later! He takes off his jacket and lays it over a chair. I can discern that the body under his loose silk buttoned shirt's as nice as the rest. "What do you think?" 

"What should I think?" He stands close enough for me to touch him, but it's him who touches me first. The fingers of his right hand tap my chest. So, he's a naughty little boy and obviously more eager than me to get it on. My breath grows heavier, and I bite my bottom lip, as he is running his fingers down to my stomach very slowly and appreciatively until he reaches my belt. All my blood seems to follow him. I grip his teasing hand to venture it even lower to the slight stiffness between my legs. He's looking straight in my eyes, lips curved in the most beautiful smile I have ever seen from a guy. "What should I think? You're just a guy who wet his pants." He frees his hand easily, with a swift movement, then a not so gentle slap hits my buttocks. "Nice butt! Perhaps it is worth a check." I don't know how I look, but he chuckles amused. After this he leaves me with Kay standing at the door to the bathroom and grinning. 

"Don't say anything, traitor!" 

Luckily I can find an extra pair of pants, and I go to take a shower. A very cold one! 

This fucking little bastard did this on purpose. Why could I not push him down and show him who truly is the master? Why could he do this to me, taking me off guard and laughing at me? A man who just reaches to my shoulders. I could break all his bones if I wanted. Of course, this was never my intention. I don't want to take a guy against his will. I never needed to do this, and I will not start with now. 

But I would have him, and he _would _beg for it. He's already halfway beaten, no doubt, cause he touched me. Not disliking it at all. I will find out what other weaknesses he has. I have my pride, and I will never lose in this kind of game. Defeat is for weaklings, but I'm not beaten yet. 

Ready for the second round, I take another beer and go back into the club. Immediately I have a crowd of excited chicks around me. That means I'm obliged to please our fans before I can have fun. I beat around the bush a bit, making them laugh while searching for the others with my eyes. But I can't see them until most of the people stop dancing and head towards a fast growing circle. 

Voices are chatting around me. "It's the girl from before. – But this is a guy. – Really, but they did dance together. – Do you think? – It's so sick. – disgusting ... – What a shame? – Poor Sam ... – How could he? – But this guy can really dance." 

What the fuck? I pass through the crowd, and then I can see them. Maggie and Cutie. Making a fucking dance show. Shit! How can he put me in such a mess? Now everybody knows that I danced with a guy. People who came regularly to listen to our concerts. I hope Arthur will never learn about that. It would take an eternity, before he would let me forget it.

Luckily, Arthur does his job, and he chooses some very good songs for dancing. It's still the Twist session. No doubt, it suits Cutie and Maggie. Watching them, surrounded by the other dancers, my anger vanishes. They fit together very well, and I decide not to interfere, like I wanted to. I'm clever enough to see that I could never match Cutie at the dance. I would look ridiculous, only giving him a reason to laugh at me again. Besides, I notice that this dance is supposed to be for Maggie. 

Maggie's Shin-chan. I know that he's the most important man in her life. I've known it since her twenty-first birthday, and I have to admit that I was jealous. Someone can be jealous of a friend as well as of a lover. Except for Kay, Maggie is the closest friend, I ever had. It is lots of fun to fight with her, teasing her and a little bit flirting with her. For several months, I even thought, hoped, that she could save me. Yes, save me. Cause, there's this voice in my mind repeating again and again the words of my parents: "You are damned. You are damned to hell." But even Maggie could not keep me from becoming hard when I see a guy signaling "please, fuck me!" with looks or movements. And she will not save _him_ either. Every move is pure provocation, and I remember that I have to think about my new strategy. 

I go to the bar with my beer and find Kay. 

"You are no match for him, I can tell you." I raise my eyebrow at his sudden comment. "He's not like the other guys you picked up. You will never get him on the back stage couch, or in the park, or in a public location, or in Arthur's car."

"Shut up, Kay! Nobody asked for your fucking opinion." I'm getting angry hearing him talk like this about my activities. Sometimes it would even be better, if he was less liberal.

Still smiling, he leans over to me: "It's a bet. He will defeat you before you even get him." 

Kay's crazy for bets and gambles as much as I do, but betting on my success with a guy is a new sort of game. Losing would hurt my pride in more than one sense. Furthermore, Kay doesn't wait for my reply, and this time, the big smile's warning me before the others arrive. 

"Got changed?" The chuckling voice comments when Cuties takes a seat at my side, but I prefer not to answer. Cutie commands whiskey on the rocks, and for a while he does nothing but looking cute and sipping the drink. I think it would be a good idea to get him drunk. Just enough so he would be more relaxed. "You gave a great performance. Where did you learn to sing?" 

"What?" I need a minute to realize that he has spoken with me, cause I was just occupied to looking at his lips and visualizing the amazing things he could do with them. Stupidly, I feel my cheeks burning. I'd never had what I was dreaming about. "What did you say?"

But before he can answer, a blushing girl comes to ask him for a dance. I'm quite surprised to see him accept with a very bright smile. He smiles a lot anyway. I take the opportunity and demand that Simon fills Cutie's glass again. Kay pushes his thumb down, hidden from Maggie's eyes, and I show him my middle finger. 

Of course, Maggie sees my gesture and raises her eyebrow. Then she asks me for a dance. She doesn't show any sign of anger. Only her smile and her eyes tell me what she thinks. _Idiot, don't overdo it._

"So, that's Shin-chan." I can't stop myself from saying this. "He's very cute. Cuter than the photos." 

"So, you have an interesting predilection and didn't tell me about." She answers mockingly, and a few minutes, embarrassment closes my lips. "You always mocked Arthur with silly jokes about his penchant. But your reaction was obvious enough too."

"Arthur is bi." My answer sounds like pouting, and Maggie laughs, but ceases very quickly. 

"It was a funny game until now, Sam, but you will stop chasing him now."

"What? Did he ask you to do this for him?" What a hypocrite coward! Hiding behind Maggie's back, playing the innocent. 

"Of course not. Don't be stupid. He is just generous enough to let you play your foolish games. And I know he is far more sensible than you, idiot. Don't offend his prudence." Generous? Sensible? Prudence? That man? Could she be so blind? But, after tonight, she will be less naïve. She will see definitively that Cutie is far more naughtier than she thinks. Not the man of her life. Just a little, freakish, masculine slut! I know his kind, oh yes, I have had many guys of his sort. They're just good for sex. 

*

My head aches like hell, and it's very difficult to open my eyes. My lids feel so heavy, as if something was laying on them. After a while I can discern what's around me cause the backstage room is filled with dim light. I'm laying on the couch. Unfortunately alone. And I have to believe that the dance is over cause of the silence. I don't remember falling asleep, just drinking and having fun with the others. And a smiling red-head. Oh, yeah, Cutie! 

Obviously he didn't get drunk. Oh yes, I'm remembering now. He cheated, but it was rather adorable how he did it. He made me drink all his drinks changing them while I was dancing. It was already too late when I started to realize it. He laughed that soft, chuckling laughter of his when I called him cheater. The memory of this laughter creates a warm feeling in my stomach. Perhaps I need to go piss. Careful not to disturb my aching head too much, I stand up and go to the bathroom. 

Released and a bit refreshed, with brushed teeth, I return in the other room. I decide to go back to sleep, but then I see that there's still light in the theatre. Have they forgotten to turn out the lights. Usually Brian or Simon who, every time, are the last to leave, turn off the lights. And they leave the key for me on the table of the dressing-room. But now there's no key. What the fuck?

Slowly, I go on the stage to take a look in the hall. And there – I blink few times to force my eyes to believe what they are seeing. There he is, sitting on the edge of the stage. I feel a sudden attack of expectancy, cause he's still here. With me. And obviously alone. Whatever reason he might have, weaknesses are not permitted in a fight. I sneak up on him, imagining how I will get my victory. After all, a prey who gives up too easily is not really worthy. But now, I think, the time to surrender is coming. 

"Do you feel better?" This man doesn't even turn, and his voice makes me almost jump. Shit happens! I have to reject my first plan, to simply get him down by surprise. More subtlety then. I settle myself down next to him, and he scrutinizes me slightly amused like he did before I started my little game with him. But, after a while, this mischievous light fades and, finally, he turns his eyes away to look at the ashtray in his hands. Then he sighs and puts it on the side. "Do you want me to drive you home? They left the key for you to lock up."

Fishing in his pocket, he finds the key to the theatre to give it to me. His hands are covered with scars. I hadn't seen it before, and it is so odd to find this almost perfect being marked like this. 

"What happened?"

He follows my gaze.

"Fire."

_Not your business._ He doesn't need to raise his voice or speak sharply to warn me. 

I shrug, and we sit some time without speaking. I still feel a little dizzy, and my head aches, but, finally, it dawns on me to ask. 

"Where are the others? And why are you still here?"

"You remember getting drunk?" I snort as an answer. "You pissed Maggie off and she got really angry with you." Considering the smirk on his lips and his look, I should be glad I don't know what I did. Obviously, something stupid and ridiculous. "Kay suggested he drive her home, and so he did." My mouth falls open, and Cutie smiles this bright smile of his which is supposed to be innocent, but isn't innocent at all. What a man! One point for Maggie, he's sensible. I don't think that Maggie told him about Kay. He just understood by watching. And he gave Kay the chance to drive Maggie home, without me to tease him, without Arthur to sit in heavy, gloomy silence. "And your cousin - "

"He left. Yeah, it's not the first time. When he's angry with me or pissed off with some mysterious incident, he leaves, leaves without a word after his DJ shift. Don't worry about him."

"Have you never asked where he was going?" 

Sweet Cutie isn't looking cute now. I can't read the expression on his face. Sorrow? Sympathy? But I feel anger rushing through my mind. He shouldn't think this much about Arthur. Arthur's no fun at all. 

"First, he doesn't like me spying on him as he has said many times. Second, he's searching for inspiration, as he said too." Hey, why do I need to justify myself? "What about you? You didn't explain why you stayed here."

"Your friends needed some help with the cleaning." There's a really weird glint in his eyes when he's saying these words. Fucking shit, I have never been drunk enough to puke. "And I needed time to think anyway." 

Now he's hiding something, I can feel it. But I can't put my finger on it. 

"Think? About what? Having sex with me?"

The wrong thing to say, buddy. In one second, the blink of an eye, everything changed. The sudden change of his eyes is really creepy. Cold fury in narrow slits. Then, abruptly, the scary look fades, and he smiles apologetically. 

He stands up, takes the ashtray and goes backstage. I need some time to regain my composure. A warning voice in my mind tells me not to mess with this man. But, then I shrug to myself. Obeying the voice of reason? Why should I? My life should be fun and adventure. Taking some risks just excites me. I get up too and follow him. Didn't he say something about driving me? I'm not so sure. My hazy mind has limited my perceptive capacities. 

When I enter the dressing-room, he isn't there, but I can hear the water running in the bathroom. 

"What did you say about driving me?" I shout, while I'm brushing my hair. I admire myself in the mirror. Just cool! Come on, baby, how can you resist this charming guy? 

"Pardon?"

I spin around, and – Honestly, I can hear my blood rushing in my own ears. His face is covered by water drops. They are hanging on his eyelashes like dew in the morning, dripping down his neck, along the silver chain he's wearing. And the wet red bangs are sticking on his cheeks and his forehead like feathers. Accentuating the soft curves of his features. He must do this on purpose, just to drive me crazy. Just to make me get fucking poetic. I don't want to think about fucking poems, I just want to – 

"Why not stay with me?" Rapidly I close the distance between us. "And have sex with me?"

This time he doesn't get angry, just raises his eyebrows.

"You are really blunt, aren't you?"

"Come on!"

"Why should I?"

He still mocks me, but I will shut his mouth. Before he knows what's happening, I pull him in my arms and search for his lips, trapping him closely between the door and my body. His taste is exciting, and he ceases struggling rapidly. Yes! I get it. My senses are enflamed, the blood rushes faster through my veins. It's awesome to savor the softness of his neck and his cheeks under my fingers, still moist from the water. My thumb stroking his throat, my fingers playing with the chain, rubbing the metal against the skin, and his lips part slightly. Victory! I take care just to brush this pliable flesh with my tongue, and relish the shiver shaking his body. 

"'cause, I'm nice and cool and witty and sexy." My voice is low and raw, when I break the kiss for a moment. 

"Shut up!" 

A determined hand grips my neck, and his mouth claims mine. What the fuck? Immediately, my back is covered with goose-bumps. First slowly, then more demanding he conquers my mouth with tongue, lips and teeth, sucking my bottom lip, exploring me hungrily, and very conscious of his actions. Breath is trapped in my throat ... shit! Furious need overwhelms me when I hear the contented sounds he's making. One of his thighs brushing against my inner thighs, brushing against more private places. My hands wander to the small of his back, then lower to his ass. Just give it to me! Now. Immediately. I squeeze his buttocks not too gently, but he's not as fragile as he looks anyway. 

I feel out of control in this situation, even pushing tightly against him, even making him sense my need. It's not me who controls this situation, submitting helplessly to these sensations prickling over my skin. The hand gently massaging at my neck finds and touches places clearly connected with the part of my body he brushes so torturing slowly with his thigh. The other hand creeps over my chest, teasing pinches provoke shivers all over my body. I'm frightened and incredibly excited at the same moment. Slowly, savoring, this hand continues its travel over my body until it reaches my ass, squeezing it lightly. He knows better tortures. It's just the thumb that strokes softly the skin above my pants, then he grazes it with his nail. How did he find this place? Against my will, I'm arching against him under his touch, my own grip around his buttocks growing harder. And I can barely breathe. 

His lips leave my mouth. Only to wander over my cheek to my ear, his breath caressing the skin. "I will consider it." He is whispering in my ear, tickling it with the tip of his tongue, sending me moaning in sweet and torturous pleasure. Oh god! I feel the firmness of the wall at my back. When and how did he turn me around? 

Finally, he lets me go.

A lazy smile lightens his face when he pushes me away, gently. He's only breathing a little harder than before. Fucking shit! My legs feel like jelly. I've never been kissed like that. Never this aggressively. I lean myself against the wall, struggling with my breath and the heat in my body. I see him looking at me with concern. Compassion is his weakness. No weakness is permitted in a fight. 

"It's very easy. I want it, and you want it. So, stop being so coquettish, Cutie!" I say as steadily as my husky voice permits.

"Look, Sam! You have gained a minimal chance that I would consider it." He shows me with his fingers how minimal this chance is. One centimeter! "But this chance will pass like this," He snaps with the same fingers. "if you call me that a second time. Because you are a nice guy, I will tell you that nicknames related to sweet', cute' or lady' piss me off. Really!" 

There is no sharpness in his voice, but the warning is obvious.

"How you want me to call you? Shin-chan? Kenneth? _Kenny?_ You have quite a lot of names." 

He grins at me, then I see a soft light in his eyes. 

"Shin-chan is a children's pet name for Shintaro. It's my Japanese name. You can call me anything you want, just use a name."

We stay silent for a few moments.

"Well! What did you say about driving me, - Shintaro?" 

"Yes, if you want I could take you home. Maggie has left me her car."

The red Chevy? "The red Chevy?"

He smiles knowingly. "I needed a lot of charm to convince her. She is quite obsessive with this car."

"I know." After I turned off the light in the backstage room, we go through the hall to the exit. "Hey, I have a great idea. Why don't you let me drive the car until my house? Then you can drive all the way to Brooklyn." 

Even in the weak light I can see that he's amused, then he bursts in this – unsupportable! – chuckling laughter.

"Thank you for your offer, but I'm not that desperate to die."

"Hey, I'm not drunk anymore."

"I have no doubt, but you _were_ drunk enough not to be able to drive."

"My ability to recover is unbeatable."

"You are surely right. But I would never trust my safety to the hands of someone who, just an hour ago, vomited in Maggie's lap." Thank you very much! It was not necessary to say it loudly. "That was rude. I'm sorry, but I think it might be safer if I drove."

We have reached the exit now. I have turned off all the lights and locked the door. Shintaro is yawning and rolls his shoulders back while he takes some steps on the sidewalk. Why does he have to be so fucking sensuous? 

"Why did you say, your name was Kenneth Farrel?"

He shrugs heading quickly to the red Chevy parked ten feet away. 

"It's the name standing in my passport, it's my American name. My father came from this country."

There is a voice in my mind warning me, but – "What's the matter with him?"

"My parents are dead." 

Great! I should have remembered. Maggie told me that he had lived with his aunt – this interesting woman we all, especially Kay, really respect. Of course! They have the same eyes.

"Don't worry! Get in!" He has opened the door from inside, and I sat down on the passenger seat. A delightful smile crosses Shintaro's face when he turns on the motor. "Where is it?"

"Broome Street."

"Okay." 

*

He drives very fast and recklessly. Of course, he chooses the wrong way, but I don't open my mouth. If he doesn't want my help, no problem. It will not be my fault, if he gets lost. We turn right and left and right and left, crossing the Avenue of the Americas and the 7th Avenue. 

"Are you pouting?"

"What?" I almost jerk off my seat.

"You haven't said a word for," He's looking at his watch. "five minutes."

"How late is it?" Just to prove to him, that I'm not _pouting_. Girls pout. 

"Almost three in the morning."

No wonder that the streets are a bit emptier. This is the quietest time of the night. Only the creatures of the night fill the streets. Ah, no! Creatures of the night' reminds me of Arthur. 

"It's strange. Besides some stores, the street hasn't changed very much." The dreamy voice of my companion pierces my thoughts, and I realize that he has reduced the speed of the car. He points out an insignificant, dark building. "We lived in this house for six years. Well," He laughs quietly. "this will be the end of the nightly sightseeing tour. I just wanted to see it."

I feel stupid, and the next acceleration of the car presses me deeper in the seat. 

"You could have said it earlier."

"What?"

"Stop mocking me! You could have said, that you know this part of the city."

The strange, violet eyes are blinking in surprise. "I'm sorry, I had no intention of teasing you. I thought you knew it from Maggie."

"Why should I ask her about your biography?"

What will you say now, um? 

The amused smile is back, when he glances at me from the corner of his eye.

"Is that a trick question?"

"You –"

"Wait a minute!" Lifting his right hand, he interrupts me sharply before I even know what to say. One more time, the abrupt change of behavior and facial expression bewilders me. Suddenly he's braking hard and stops the car. Opening the door and rising up, he shouts at the top of his voice. "Hey, you! Get off these girls!"

It's only now that I see the reason for his behavior. A bunch of thugs are fighting with two girls on the other side of the street, trying to drag them in a dark space between two houses. And of course, no one is around to help them. Why are the streets always so empty when things like this happen? Of course, the thugs ignore Shintaro.

"Fine! Have it your way!" I hear him growling and leave the car either, too. The tension in his body and the tone of the voice tell me that he will do something stupid. I just detect a silvery flash and metallic clanking, before he starts running. He's very fast. Swearing under my breath I follow him. 

The girls are quite courageous, using their purses and – shoes? – as weapons, but against six men they would not last very long. Such things are happening every night and every day in this city. After a while, it becomes safer not to see it anymore. Besides, nobody can be saved in this world. The only good thing is having fun as long as you can get him it. Unfortunately for the thugs, a good fights just fun for me.

"I have asked you to leave these girls alone." Shintaro shouts a second time. The thugs turn around, facing him laughing. "It's a warning to prevent useless injuries."

He seems to be quite naive. Of course, they don't take him seriously. 

Oh!

They should have. 

The first man attacking him, a tall, but lanky guy, is down before he really understands what happens. Just with a precise kick in the guts and a punch to the neck from my strange companion. Then silver flashes against the neck of the next, while I'm faced with a big heavy guy. He looks somewhat familiar to me, but, with just only a few streetlights, it's difficult to see details of his appearance. And besides, it doesn't matter anyway, cause I get him down very quickly. He's just an ordinary thug who had never done prize fighting.

Looking around, I see only two of the gang left standing up. Obviously, they realize the sudden change of balance in this fight and prepare to make to split. I don't know if it's because of the late hour or for the rest of due to the alcohol left in my blood, but I'm a bit too slow as the man next to me holds suddenly holds a knife in his hand. A quick move, one of the girls is screaming, and then I get him at the same moment as he's hit across the face by – a silver chain. He collapses and the last man standing has already disappeared into the darkness of the night. 

With a soft clanking, the chain is falling down on the street. Shintaro turns to the hurt girl – a pretty, young lady in well worn clothes – who has clutched her right hand over the left arm. He's not even breathless and is still wearing his beret, as if nothing had happened.

"Quickly, miss – Oh, Miss Karen?" For a second, his voice sounds really surprised. "Well, quickly, we should not stay on this dark corner."

"It's not so bad, it's only the my arm." The girl says, and it's just now, that the shock of the pain's hitting her. Shintaro grips her, before she falls down. Carefully, he picks her up to carry her to the car. Apparently, Shintaro knows the little miss. I follow them more slowly, picking up the chain on the way. Very interesting. The weight's not as light as if the fabric was just silver. I let it slide in the pocket of my jacket. 

"Hey, I won't let you take advantage of her in her condition!" The other girl yells and punches him in the back. She's a small, black girl with a lot of braids around the head. As far as I can see, she's wearing a large dark cloak.

Funny situation! I want to laugh, but instead, I clutch the cloak by the collar and lift up the little thing. She tries to hit me with her shoes. High heels. 

"Unfortunately, we don't have time to discuss it now." I say dodging her blows and trying to get her away from this dark alley. "Besides, we have rescued you. How you can you doubt our sincerity?"

"I will never trust a white man." She answers, continuing to struggle. 

"I'm not that white." 

I hear her gasp, but we're already at the car. Shintaro has set the wounded girl on the passenger seat. She only seems to be a little dizzy, but hasn't lost her consciousness or her temper, because I can hear her explaining: "No, I don't need to go to the Hospital." 

"Sure." Shintaro helps her out of her jacket, the cut is rather nasty, bleeding profusely. 

"You are so stubborn, Karen!" I put down my burden on the sidewalk, and she's putting on her shoes, complaining loudly. "How often have I told you that I'm used taking care of myself? I don't need a bodyguard. Now see, what happened to you!" 

I think it's very good that she's yelling like that, cause the little missy in the car gets a bit angry. "You should be more grateful." She replies. "You could have been hurt severely, if I had not been here." Sometimes anger's good for you.

I exchange a look with Shintaro. He has gone to the trunk, searching for the first aid kit, and when he's coming back now, sorrow and amusement are struggling on his features. 

"Would you keep an eye on these thugs!" He asks me before crouching beside the car. Turning around, I see the men getting up slowly, but they prefer to stay safe instead to mess with us another time. Looking down at him as he treats the wound with calm hands almost makes me wish I was wounded too. "Perhaps, we should have called the police." He says suddenly very thoughtful.

No use, if you want my opinion. They would just take our names, ask the girls what the heck they were doing on the streets at this time of night. I would never trust a cop. Besides, my name is already on file. 

"No!" The reaction of both girls is identical. 

Shintaro shrugs, and I believe, he doesn't trust the police either. It was just a polite suggestion. 

Finally, he has finished his treatment and gets up to put away the first aid kit.

"Okay, lets go!" 

Whatever you want, my dear! I open the back door to settle myself behind the driver seat.

"Hey, where are you taking her?" The black girl punches him again, this time she chooses his side as her target. "We don't even know your name."

"Don't worry, Mimi! We –"

"First, my name is Kenneth Farrel." Shintaro interrupts a possible argument between the girls. "Second, the wound needs to be stitched, and the hospital is not very far away." 

"I don't need to go to the hospital!"

"I will not let her go alone with two men."

Shintaro is sighing. "Of course, you will accompany us and if you want I can drive you home later too."

The black girl steps back a bit. 

"I don't think that you want to drive to Harlem in the middle of the night." She says quite aggressively. "Besides, I don't need any help from you, I can take care of myself." 

"Don't be so stubborn!" Despite her blood loss, the little miss obviously has enough energy to yell, but it's no use. 

"I don't need your help." Mimi is shouting back, and I wonder how often they had such a this discussion.

Annoying girls! Loud girls! I wish Maggie would was here. She is always able to deal with awkward girls. But, now, they are Shintaro's problem. He wanted to save them. The hero who saves the damsels has to deal with them, not his loyal companion. It's always like that, in the movies.

"Stop!" _He_ doesn't even need to raise his voice, as sharp as his tone is now. "It's out of question to leave you alone now, Miss Mimi. I can understand, that you hesitate to trust us. But I promise you that I simply want to help you. I don't mind driving you to Harlem. I have no doubt, that you are a tough girl, but you can't stay alone now, because, in a few minutes, you might collapse from the shock. Get in the car, please!"

The girl gapes, but then she obeys. I think she knows that he's right. Now, she's still excited from the fight, but when the adrenaline rush is over, it will be hard to deal with this knowledge: It was just luck, that she escaped the danger of being raped and - probably murdered. 

"Isn't it a bit late for two girls to be on the streets?" Shintaro asks when we are sitting in the car.

"One has to make money, red-head." The black girl says somewhat offensively. I find myself thinking that they are quite young for prostitutes.

"We work in a Jazz Club around the corner." The missy explains with a weak voice, and against my will, I feel blushing. "Her name is Mimi Melville, she's the piano player. I work there as a waitress." There's a hint of bitterness in her voice. But, it fades quickly when she speaks with the black girl. "There is no need to be aggressive, Mimi. He is a very old acquaintance."

"My name's Sam Sherman." If it's time for social conventions, I want to introduce myself too. 

Shintaro is parking the car, near the Vincent Hospital and leads the I-don't-need-any-help complaining missy to the Emergency entrance. As I'm following him, the black girl tugs at my jacket. 

"Are you related in some way to a man called Arthur Sherman?" She is asking, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I watch how Shintaro and the missy are dealing with a nurse. Then I see the coffee machine. Yes, coffee would be fine, I think, inserting some coins. "Hey, answer me when I ask you something." Mimi's voice is growing louder.

The machine spits out a thin brown liquid supposed to be coffee and tasting like – well, nothing delightful. Finally I say calmly: "Arthur is my cousin."

"Yippie!!!" She's shrieking so loudly that I have to grimace. But, not only me. The other people waiting for someone to treat them, or for the doctor, or for whatever almost jump off their seats. And they are as surprised as me when she is hugging me enthusiastically. Shintaro who has joined us at the coffee machine is even smiling, the first time since we have met the girls. "You are blessed by god. He is such a great man, a genius. I love him. He took care of me. He taught me playing the piano ..."

"Yes, he has a life beyond music," I interrupt her babble when I see Shintaro raising an eyebrow to ask. "he's a social worker."

"In Harlem?"

"Oh yes, he is the most courageous man." Mimi doesn't leave any time for a reply. "It's not usual for a white man to be well liked in Harlem." The hint of serious thoughts fades quickly. "He taught me music, he taught us, me and a few buddies, how to promote our Jazz band - Unfortunately, the others left the band, and a girl alone cannot be a band. – Ah, it's such a pity that I have to work every Friday. I would die to see one of his concerts one time. – It's quite a long time, since I've seen him..."

She's babbling and babbling, switching from regret to excitement. Complaining that she hadn't seen Arthur for many weeks, praising his extraordinary talents. I stop listening, settle myself on a chair and watch Shintaro. He is going to a phone, tries to call someone and returns. An irritated expression on his face. He leans against the wall, facing me. Thoughtful looks and a sad, little smile around the lips, when he becomes aware of me observing him. Wonderful! I just wanted to screw him, and now I'm sitting in a Hospital, beside a girl annoying me to death with praises of Arthur. King Arthur, she calls him. Ha! 

Finally, Karen Kaszowiz comes back, her left arm in a slung, her legs a bit wobbling, but she smiles brightly, when she notices us waiting for her. 

*

"What about your family, Miss Karen? I couldn't reach anyone. How can it be, they let you work this late at night?" 

Shintaro is asking when as we exit the Emergency room, all formalities finished. That's what is troubling him. He has tried to call her home wherever that might be.

"We live alone now, my brother and me." The girl tries to sound cheerful and optimistic, but her face is very pale. "He's almost twelve years old. Sometimes, he doesn't hear the phone when he is sleeping."

None of us – Mimi included –can think of anything to say as we go to the car. I feel somewhat sorry for her, but shit happens in all families. And sometimes children have to grow up fast. For some reason, Shintaro appears to be very distressed. I can see it in his face, reflected by the mirror. 

*

"Nice shack!" I remark just to say something when we climb the stairs. The shack's pretty high, but it's a shack anyway. Ugly and dirty, and the fucking elevator isn't working. Fucking Samaritans as we are, we are scaling the whole fucking stairway with her to the last floor. The 6th floor.

This top floor's a bit nicer than the rest. Dark-green paper on the walls, and we look directly into a gold-framed mirror when we're leaving the staircase. An old engraving announcing the "Kaszowiz Dance School" is visible on the left door, and the same name's listed on the other door. 

The missy manages just to unlock the door, before she collapses from the long climb. I catch her, before she falls on the floor, and Shintaro luckily finds the lightswitch in the apartment. The little hall's very comfortable and nice with a wooden hat-stand, more mirrors and old furniture. But the best thing is a couch where I can lay down the girl who's blushing, embarrassed about her condition. 

"Do you have some whisky?" Mimi asks. "It might help you to get to sleep quickly."

"No, we have no alcohol in the house. Don't worry about me. I will be fine." The little missy tries to sound wide awake, but she's looking quite tired. 

"You should visit a doctor tomorrow. Just to see, if the wound is healing without complications." Shintaro tells her calmly. "Do you have someone to look after you? Besides your brother."

"Don't worry. I've been taking care of myself for one year." The girl replies stubbornly. "I will be fine. Besides, you should remember that you went to Europe at the age of fifteen, all alone." 

Interesting. He left home at almost the same age as me. Obviously, the girl has a point with this argument. "Okay, but it would be better - " 

"You could be more quiet, raccoon!" One of the doors opened and the sleepy face of a dark-haired boy appears in the doorway. Slowly, his mouth is falling open in complete stupefaction, when he looks at us. "What are all these people doing here? Are you crazy, or what?"

Little boy with a big mouth. "Shrimp!" Mimi's thundering, slapping him on his head. I had the same intention, but the girl was faster than a weasel. "Don't speak like that to your sister!"

"Hey, hey!" Shintaro grips her collar the same way I did before, shifting her with a swift movement away from the boy. "It's no use. Look, kid!"

"I'm not a kid!" The boy is yelling back. Yeah, it's yelling day today. 

"Whatever! My name is Kenneth Farrel. Your sister has been attacked on the streets tonight."

"I can speak for myself" Of course! The discussion gets really funny now with another reply from the missy. 

"Yes. Sorry, Miss Karen!"

The missy is sitting up on the couch. I'm still amazed at what effect anger has on her physical condition. "These men have helped me and the other girl, Yacko. They are brave and reliable." She explains to her brother who tries to hide his concern. But he can't! "Besides, Kenneth Farrel was a student of grand-ma." 

The boy doesn't look more impressed, and Shintaro seems to be rather ashamed at this statement. Softly he says: "I think, we should leave now and drive miss Mimi home, you need rest, Miss Karen." We do as he suggests, and the boy accompanies us to the door. 

A few minutes later, we are sitting in the car again. I feel fucking angry, cause the silly little weasel-girl has taken my place at the driver's side. But then I decide, that I prefer her annoying him instead me. 

"Did you really study dancing?" She starts chatting, right after he starts the car. "I mean, that is a queer sport. It isn't even a real sport. You are just hopping around."

It's me who takes a deep breath hearing her pronouncing the word queer'. Shintaro stays completely calm, there is even a slight smile on his lips.

"Have you ever seen a dance performance?" 

"No, I don't want to waste my money on such silly things."

"Then make up your mind after you do see one!"

"You are quite rude." 

"Do you think so? What about you, Miss Mimi? Travelling across the entire city to play in a Jazz Club isn't normal for a young girl."

"I'm seventeen!" The girl slaps his arm, and I can see Shintaro's smile growing more amused. "But I will tell you. I wanted to be as near as possible to King Arthur." She sighs dramatically. "Every day, before I start my shift, I take a look in the "Velvet", but he never shows up."

Arthur's not sociable at all, he never is visible in the "Velvet" apart from the rehearsals and the concerts. I could tell her where she might find him, but I don't want to be the target of Arthur praises a second time. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that she already knew about my relationship with him. She turns around and looks at me, almost hanging between the seats. 

"You will tell him, that I'm looking for him. You will tell me, where I can find him. It's so great that I got to know you now, Rooster." 

"What?" I cry out and grip her arm. How dare she call me that? 

"Would you please return to your seat, Miss Mimi?" The red-haired traitor has problems swallowing his laughter, and he flashes me a glance in the mirror. I'm wavering between anger and excitement, but I start to love the mirror. Weasel-Mimi is obeying, and Shintaro takes up the conversation again. "And this is the only reason you play in this club? You should have asked for a job in the "Velvet"."

"Don't think I'm stupid. I asked this guy, Brian Reynolds, for a job: He is not only a fucking racist, but the "Velvet" has no piano either." That Brian might be a racist is really new for me. I never had problems with him, he's very calm, almost a bit shy. Maybe, I should question him a little about the girl. As short tempered as she is, she could be offended by something meaningless. "The piano is important, because I have to practice as much as possible. I want to enter the Manhattan School of Music, but I need more practice and money for it. The examination will be in July."

"What other instruments do you play?" 

"Trumpet and guitar, but I sing too." And then she suddenly starts to imitate Judy Garland: "_Somewhere over the rainbow ..._"

Normally, I would be embarrassed to be in the company of such a foolish girl like her, singing in a car, but I'm absolutely amazed by her voice and its capacities. After the second couplet, Judy Garland becomes Shirley Bassey, singing "Goldfinger". Arthur is the greatest idiot on earth, I think. Over and over he tells us that we need a fourth person for the band. How could he not ask this girl? Hadn't she spoken about a jazz band? "The gang"? Arthur's strange friends? I know those guys, but I never thought that they might be able to make music. How could Arthur be so stupid?

"That was great." Shintaro says, when she's ending her singing. "Where did you learn to sing? Don't tell me that it's just natural talent."

She's laughing cheerfully. "You're right, I got some of the fundamentals from our choirmaster. I have sung in the church since my childhood, and I'm even leading singer for prayer meetings."

"Sam has a good voice too. I think your voices would fit together very nicely." 

Our eyes cross in the mirror again, and he smiles warmly at me. He really means what he has said. I feel stupid, that this thought fills me with such gladness, but I can't fucking help myself. 

"The rooster?"

I grip her neck from behind, and she shrieks, still laughing.

"Shut up, weasel!"

"Hey, hey." Shintaro reaches over with one hand to free her. I give up, cause his hand brushing mine sends a tingle through my body, raising the small hairs at the back of my neck and covering my back with goose-bumps. "No, really, he's the true star of the rock band." 

I could kiss him for these words, but I will not sing to prove it to her. Never. Not in a fucking car.

*

The streets are bathed in gray light. The are really crowded now, with cars and people. It's 5:30 in the morning. When Mimi finally tells us to let her get out at the next corner, we have sung several songs and duets in the little car theatre. I've never felt that childish for very long time. But the other two got the best of me with their jokes and flirting. 

"Do you live here, Miss Mimi?" Shintaro asks when he has stopped the car. 

"Not directly, but I will be fine. You better not go to my house with this car." She's opening the door and continues with her light-hearted innocence. "Besides, they don't like queers in this part of the city, and don't get me wrong, but your looks are just crying queer." It sounds like a synonym for a coward, sick and weird at the same time. Shintaro's knuckles are turning white, but there is no special emotion showing on his face. The girl doesn't realize the effect of her words, she is still smiling cheerfully. Ha, I think, she doesn't even know what she is saying cause she gently taps his arm. "However, I'm grateful for the ride. You were right, it was better not to be alone, but now, I'm almost home, and I will be fine. So, thank you!" She gets out, then glances at me, grinning a bit more shyly. "Don't forget about Arthur!" 

While we are following her skipping steps with our eyes, Shintaro lets the steering-wheel go. Looking at his watch, he leans his head back and sighs heavily. 

"She is just stupid." 

"What?"

"This girl, she speaks without thinking."

Shintaro shakes his head. "I don't care about that, - well not too much. Please, don't bother with anger. Besides, I don't think she is stupid. At least, she is right about many things. Being black _and_ gay might be harsher than being gay and looking like a woman." My heartbeat must have stopped for a second. The feeling emerging inside me strangles my throat, nearly chokes me and makes my eyes burn with unshed tears. Oh god! No, no, no one will see me cry, never in my – My cool-blooded mood returns in an instant, Shintaro is turning around a bit, facing me smiling. But he perceives my inner struggle. The smile grows softer and warmer. "Do you still want to drive this car?" 

"How can you even ask?" I reply as relaxed as I can.

"I ask, because I have just reached my physical limit."

"But it was you who wanted to help this girls. The hero is supposed to be untiring."

Now, he is laughing, climbing into the passenger seat. "Come on, it's your dream car!" Feeling much better, I get out of the back seat and settle into the driver's seat. I'm a bit tired too, but I would never admit it. "You should be satisfied by reaching one of your goals for tonight."

Startled to hear such naughty comments from him, I poke him in his side, provoking a gasping laughter and a writhing movement. _He's ticklish_. A major weakness! Very satisfied with my discovery, I start the car. After a while, I realize that he's really exhausted, cause he pulls off his beret without caring about his hair arrangement and rubs his frowning forehead. Then he leans back his head and closes his eyes.

A little bit later, I note that he's fallen asleep. Looking so fucking cute that I need all my strength of will to concentrate on the road. 

*

I find a spot to park in front of Helen Richard's drugstore. Yawning I turn my gaze to Shintaro. He has sunken deeper in his seat, and his head is leaning against the window cupped in his right hand. The other is clutching the beret in his lap. Calm breaths lift his chest in a regular motion. His sleeping face is peaceful and sweet. A few long bangs have strayed from the artistic creation of his hair, falling down over his shoulder. Fiery-golden silk on dark-blue velvet. I reach over to savor their texture, thinking how amazing he must look wearing them all down. I have a certain attraction to queens, and he would be a good one. 

Touching him is enough to rebuild slight need, but I know, that, for now, my chance is gone. I m not up to it anyway, as tired as I am now.

Sighing, I shake his shoulder to wake him up. First, he makes some funny, whining sounds of unhappiness, which make me laugh. And I relish the satisfaction being the one who laughs. 

"What are you laughing at?" He asks me, rubbing his sleepy eyes and stretching. Well, while he's stretching, I almost forget my thought about weariness. 

"Nothing. What now? You could stay and – sleep."

"No," His answer is sounds final, but – Is that a hint of regret I hear? "They will be very worried about me, if I'm not back, before they awake." He continues yawning, but, suddenly, he opens the door. "Could you wait a moment?" I nod, and he leaves the car for the drugstore. Slowly, I get out too, and leaning my arms on the roof, I wait for his return. When Shintaro comes back, he's waving a coke can. "Short term remedy." He explains, opening the can, and he drinks, standing at my side. "Want some too?" 

I take the can from his hand and have a drink too, to swallow my renewed urge. He gets in the car and takes a look in the mirror. Sighing, he starts to adjust his hair a bit, before putting his cap back. 

Then he turns on the motor. 

"I would like us to go out again one of these days? I haven't been in the city for more than five years, I'm not up to date on where people meet." 

He's speaking of gay people, but he doesn't wait for my answer. It was just a proposition to have a reason to meet again. Just for fun! Yes, I could tell him about our Saturday night sessions and the "Underground", where everyone – really everyone – is accepted. Our little illegal club. 

"We'll see." I answer indecisively, because I don't know if I want to continue this game. Although he is an interesting target, he may be more trouble than he's worth. All what I want is great sex without obligation, not a complicated relationship. 

"Okay." He shrugs, but doesn't look angry or offended when he starts the car. "See you!"

My eyes follow the car until he turns right to Broadway, and I am grinning. Yes, I'm somewhat proud of myself. If he is interested, he will come on his own. What a wonderful idea! I could still win my bet with Kay _and_ preserve my pride. 

After all, I still have his chain in the pocket of my jacket. Maybe, he will miss it.

****

**Author's notes:**

1. Let's talk about the characters and the biggest change! I know that I changed Misao's appearance a lot, and I hope you will me forgive this liberty. I had several reasons for this. First, I thought that giving her a difficult social background could show her wonderful character better, because a person who stays cheerful and full of energy even if her life isn't so easy seems very interesting too me. I have read so many fiction where Misao is just the type "crazy, silly girl", that I thought she deserved better. Second, the differences of skin color and the problems of racism will give more impact to the conflicts. 

2. Let's talk about the characters (II)! Sam is very single-minded and superficially, you think. Yes, you are right, and this is my version of the "Zanza" character. One of the major plot lines of part one is my (transported) version of the fight Kenshin vs. Sano. I don't want to say more, because I risk spoiling my story. 

3. Let's talk about the characters (III)! The name of the hero: Shintaro = Shinta (shin = heart/ ta = great/big) + ro (explicit masculine ending form for a name). For reasons which will be revealed later in the story, it is out of question that his parents wanted would name him "Heart of the Sword". And I considered Shinta too soft. The idea giving my character a Western name and a Japanese name I got from "Fake".

Other characters: I think there is no need to say who Yacko is. This name is a pet form for Yakub Kaszowiz. Brian Reynolds is an OC, but he can be compared with the side characters of the manga/anime who, sometimes, don't have names.

4. Let's talk about New York! 

**Topography:** The Vincent Hospital is located in the Northern part of Greenwich Village. 

Do I need to explain Harlem? 

**Lifestyle:** "queen" means "drag queen" = transvestite. 

"Velvet and Blue-jean" and "Underground" = the names of the two clubs are a joke, giving my impression of the music they play. "Velvet Underground" was an avant-garde band (first record in '67) promoted by Andy Warhol. One of their singers was Lou Reed. 

5. Let's talk about movies: Movies and allusions to them will play a great role in this story.

"Goldfinger" is the 1963 James-Bond-movie, starring Sean Connery and Gerd Fröbe. As it has been said, the song has been performed by Shirley Bassey.

"Somewhere over the rainbow" is a song from the movie "The Wizard of Oz", starring and performance of the song by Judy Garland. In one of my sources about gay lifestyle in New York, I read that Judy Garland had been an idol especially for "queens" in this time. As strange as it seem, the Stonewell Riot in 1969 was connected to her suicide a few days before. 


	3. Chapter 3: Somewhere Over The Rainbow

****

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

Warning for language (in the beginning) and controversial political opinions.

****

Chapter 3: Somewhere Over The Rainbow

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

A peaceful day, a precious moment  
Today we took a little walk along the river. The cherry trees were in full bloom, and the air smelled sweet. The way was harder for me than I thought, but I do not regret it. Sometimes we have to leave behind us the sorrows about our son and the rest of the family, the noise of the dojo and the students. To share a single moment of happiness.  
Time will never stop, taking my strength with it. To keep my courage in this already lost fight, I collect such moments of closeness. And I need this courage, not only for me, but for her.  
Until my very end, I will give all my heart to be a good husband, though I've never been a perfect one.

****

New York, May 9, 1965

The little diner in southern Chelsea was their usual meeting point. And as usual, they met at lunchtime. Smoking, Henry Shatner was sitting at a table beside the window, looking at some papers, when the other man arrived. A cup of coffee and the rest of a rather frugal meal were standing before him. The ashtray was stuffed with cigarettes.

"Do you understand the meaning of Sundays as days of rest, boss?" Jasper Cagney greeted him, settling himself across from his boss. He was a lanky man from the South with blond hair, still cut in an Army brush cut. Although, the Korean war had been over for twelve years, Jasper Cagney, who had served in the last year of that war, had a certain attraction to that hairstyle. 

"No." Shatner didn't even raise his head.

"Do you never take days off?" 

"No." Shatner dropped the paper he had been looking at and glanced at his very special agent. "So what did you learn?"

"Very funny coincidence! There was really something special with his papers. This man asked the permission to import an ancient sword." 

Jasper took a folded paper out of his own pocket and laid it on the table.

"A sword?" 

The special agent had never seen this grade of stupefaction in the features of his boss. He had been very surprised too, to really find out something this interesting. An ancient sword! The collection of old swords was Jasper Cagney's principal and very expensive hobby. 

"What the heck does he want to with a sword?"

"I don't know, but he explained that it was an inheritance. Do you want me to do some more research?" 

They were interrupted by the waitress, and Jasper ordered beer and fried chicken with chips. 

"Yes," Shatner handed him the bundle of papers. "Here you can find basic information, addresses, family connections and so on. That could help you to find him in this city. Just keep an eye on him!" 

"What about my other investigation?"

"If your connection to them is strong enough, they will contact you. Don't overdo it!"

"Okay." Jasper read the first page of the report. "A faggot with communist sympathies? As if one of these leanings were not disgusting enough. Honestly." 

The waitress brought the meal. 

"Do you have no photos?" 

Jasper laid down the papers and started to eat.

"I have already asked for more information. They will send photos too, but they are some years old, anyway. I think, the best way to approach him is the woman, Kumiko Techaco, his aunt. She is under observation since ... ." 

Shatner interrupted his speech, a slight hint of surprise in his eyes. 

"What?" Jasper asked chewing.

"More funny coincidences!" Jasper pointed to the papers with the chicken he held in his hand, raising his brow. "Indeed. He just came in with some people, most of them women." Slowly, Shatner lit a new cigarette, a sardonic grin covered his face. Jasper was not sure, but he thought he heard him mumbling. "Damned queer. How can he always pick up so many girls?"

"What will we do now?"

"I will finish my cigarette, and then I will leave very calmly. He hasn't seen me yet, but if I start to hurry now, I will certainly attract his attention." 

"When did you meet him?" The blond man queried, still eating, but he didn't believe that his boss would satisfy his curiosity. 

To his surprise, Shatner answered: "First? London, ten years ago." The very special agent Jasper Cagney had heard rumors of a top secret affair in London. Something about a phantom assassin. A very mysterious affair. He watched his boss, but his features didn't reveal anything, and this time, Jasper decided to keep his mouth shut. He would not get any answer apart from ironic comments. "I will leave now." Shatner had finished his cigarette, laid a few bucks on the table and took his coat. "It's the red-head, with long hair, quite womanish. Don't let your eyes betray you and take him too lightly. He might look queer, and indeed he has grown worse than before, but for playing tag, you will hardly find someone to match him. I will expect your first report on Wednesday." 

Having said this, he left. The blond special agent finished his meal and drank his beer. After having wiped his hands a bit, he glanced at the second sheaf of the papers Shatner had given him. A name caught his eyes, a surprising discovery. It almost made him laugh. 

Jasper Cagney folded the papers and put them in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he paid for his meal and headed for the exit. 

It was unbelievably easy. 

"Good afternoon, Mister Cagney!"

The friendly voice of the familiar dark-haired girl greeted him, and it was just polite to look at her. Her left arm hung in a sling, and she seemed a bit tired, but her warm smile revealed her good mood as always. 

"Good afternoon, Miss Kaszowiz!" 

Jasper said, nodding politely to her company and they nodded back: the insolent little boy, her brother, the other two woman, a Latino vamp and a Nigger girl, and the faggot who's looks inspired his immediate disgust. They had been in the middle of a rather violent discussion. 

"What happened to your arm, Miss Kaszowiz?"

He asked, noting that the red-head indeed had some Asian features, although his strange eyes and hair were not quite what you expected.

"Thank you for your concern, Mister Cagney! I got hurt in a late night hold-up, but it's not half as bad as it looks." 

"I hope you will recover fast."

He meant what he said. Despite her stubbornness, he had always liked the girl and didn't like the idea that she might get hurt. 

"Thank you, Mister Cagney!"

"See you later, Miss Kaszowiz!" 

"See you later, Mister Cagney!"

He left the café. It was really too easy. His boss didn't know it, but the new job had a connection with his last investigation. 

***

The dream is so sweet. We are dancing. In the famous Opera of Paris, a dream of gold and red, and colored marble. It's the dance of the Prince and the Princess in "The Sleeping Beauty". Yes, I can hear the music, can feel his hands, the strength of his arms. It's so beautiful. ... 

Infernal noise is shattering my dream. I try to reach out with my left arm to grip the alarm-clock, to throw it far away from my tortured ears. It would not be the first clock to be destroyed in this way. The pain flashing through my body is strong enough to wake me up completely. I wake up and realize that it's not my clock that is ringing, but the phone. 

In the very same moment, I notice that I fell asleep fully dressed. 

"Yacko! The phone." I yell, trying to get up, but no sign of life from my little brother. Before, I can force my still limp body all the way to the phone in the hall, the ringing stops suddenly. I fall back on my bed. The curtains are closed and it is still dim in my room. A glance at the silent alarm-clock shows me something past ten. No doubt, Yacko has already left the apartment to roam the streets with his bunch of so-called friends. 

Slowly, I get up again, hating my body for being so weak. They had to send me home last night, before my shift was over. Dropping two trays with filled glasses was not what they wanted a waitress to do. But I couldn't really move the arm. I didn't expect that the wound would be so annoying. On the night of the hold-up, I didn't feel it as much as now. Perhaps, I should visit a doctor, but doctors just want money that I haven't got. Besides, yesterday, when Yacko changed the bandage, he told me that the wound didn't look so bad. 

I open the curtains. The light of a clear day floating in the room lifts my mood. You are just too impatient, I tell myself. Wounds need time to heal, and sometimes healing is painful and saps your strength. Searching for fresh clothes, I remember the time when my right ankle was twisted. It was just the same, and I drove everyone around me crazy with my impatience and my bad moods. 

Oh god! Thinking about my bad moods is embarrassing. I was so bad that night. Remembering myself whining, complaining and yelling like I did. I had no reason for it, but I couldn't help it. Perhaps, it was all caused by the shock, however, I'm worried. What would they think of me? 

Especially Kenneth Farrel. Of course, I didn't want him to patronize me like he did. I could see it very clearly. He took me for the little girl I was when we saw each other the last time. However, I overreacted, perhaps even scared him away. However, now I can't do anything about it. It's better to concentrate on more urgent problems.

Just at the moment I enter the bathroom, the phone starts ringing again. Sighing, I walk back in the little hall and take the receiver.

"Karen Kaszowiz. What can I do for you?"

"This is Deputy Malcolm Kelly ..."

When I hear the calm and familiar voice, I have no doubt what he will tell me. One more time. Normally, I would have been polite, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but today I feel too bad for courtesy and conventions.

"Is it about my brother? Must I come for him?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Kaszowiz, but, yes, he has been arrested for stealing again. It's the fifth time, Miss Kaszowiz, we can't release him so easily this time. It's possible that he has to go to the juvenile ..."

"Stop! We will not discuss this matter on the phone, Deputy Kelly. I will come to the police station as fast as I can."

I hear him sigh in desperation, although he tries to swallow it immediately. It's my very special triumph, that members of the New York City Police Department are somewhat afraid of a nineteen-years-old girl. But, it's not enough to make me feel at ease.

"Yes, I think that might be better, Miss Kaszowiz." 

The deputy says calmly, before he interrupts the communication. I stand frozen a moment. The juvenile court! It's horror just to think about it. Imaging my brother in jail. The last thing to disintegrate my world completely, the last thing I had to lose apart from these rooms. Don't think about it, stupid girl! 

Yacko! He is so selfish, making me this worried about him. For his stupid boyish pride. He had explained me the last time why he had to do such idiotic things: The other kids in the streets called him queer or faggot, because this stupid dance school had his name. Everyone knew that queers are cowards. In order not to be a coward, he had to prove his worth. 

This time I will not accept such an excuse. 

*

Getting washed and dressed was rather difficult with my hurt arm. I needed almost thirty minutes, before I was satisfied. Then I had to take an aspirin, although I don't like to depend on it. But I needed it to keep my wits together. 

Every time I have to deal with the police, I take care to be dressed more femininely. It's unbelievable how polite policemen can be, when you comport yourself like a lady. I never hear as many compliments as when I go to the police station like now. My cheeks are heated, but I'm somewhat pleased. 

Luckily, they haven't put Yacko in an arrest cell. He is sitting beside Deputy Kelly's desk. When I arrive, he doesn't even lift his head. The deputy searches for a chair for me, and I sit down. 

"What was it?" I don't wait for the exchange of courtesies, but start straightforwardly.

"Three wallets, including fif- ...." 

"Three wallets? Please, forgive me, Deputy Kelly, but I thought it was a serious affair. But three wallets are no reason enough to drag someone to court." 

I don't feel as reckless as I sound with the deputy. My hands are covered with sweat, and my heart beats unbelievably fast. But, come on, Karen, don't be afraid to give a little performance. 

"Why don't you let me pay them back? I will make sure that it's the last time you see this boy." 

Yacko has lifted his head now. The mention of juvenile court obviously has some effect on his conscience. He is chewing his lower lip, as he does every time, he is really embarrassed. 

"Miss Kaszowiz, you say this every time when we meet here. Unmistakably, this boy is a hard case, and perhaps, you are too young to take care of him."

My breath is trapped in my throat for a moment. It's evident what his remark implies. They could take my brother away from me, even if they don't put him in jail. But I will not let it happen easily. Why should I give in to these people who were not even able to protect us. No, I won't let it happen. Not against my will, not without fight.

"Will you inform the welfare department about our situation, deputy?" I won't beat around the bush.

"Perhaps, it would be wiser."

Ah, he is already uncertain, because he knows me. That's my advantage.

"I know, you just want to do your duty, Deputy Kelly, but you can trust me. And even if you believe that you have to inform the welfare department you can still let me take my brother home."

I need some more time to convince him that he had better not to keep Yacko. Not if he didn't wanted me staying at the station all day and annoying him. But, in the end, I can take my stupid little brother and leave. 

"Don't even open your mouth, before we are home, idiot!" I say, slapping his head when we are in the street. "I'm really angry with you."

Of course, he doesn't keep his mouth shut. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. It's your own fault if you don't want to hear it." He is hopping out of my reach now. "Besides, I did it for you. We need money, you said, to pay these bastards who bought father's debts. And we need money, so that you could go visit a doctor and we don't have it." 

His words make me angry and touch me strangely at the same time. 

"I didn't ask you to steal, Yacko. What you should do is be helpful."

We go most of our way in silence, and finally, we are back home.

"How is your arm?" Yacko asks when we are climbing the stairs. 

"I need to change the bandage, because I couldn't do it, before I left."

"Okay."

His voice tells me that he wants me not to be angry with him.

I don't know why we lost the closeness we shared in the years before father died. Someone told me, it might be the age. Changes, inexplicable moods and ideas. And it would grow worse until fifteen or sixteen, then, perhaps, the handling would be easier. What a perspective! Two or three years of constant trouble. 

"What are you doing here? Aren't you the girl from the other night?" I hear Yacko's stunned question. 

He has climbed the last stairs faster than me.

"Yes. My name is Mimi. Mimi Melville." 

And there she is, wearing a giant dark coat, smiling a bit embarrassed. Mimi had not been in the club at all last night. And I heard the manager complaining that he hasn't had a chance to find a good replacement for her. 

"I ... just ... just wanted to know how you feel." Her hands are kneading the fabric of the coat. "The grand-pa – well, he isn't my real grand-pa, just an old storekeeper who takes care of orphans for the love of Jesus ... The grand-pa didn't want me to keep my job, and I wasn't there last night. But I thought, for the love of Jesus, I have to look after you. Because we have fought together." 

I have always wondered why her family could let her go work so far away from her home. She always waited for the first subway when the club had closed. Alone, in the night. A girl who was younger than me and looked even younger than she was. When I knew that, I decided to wait with her. After all, my way wasn't so far, and I knew more people in this neighborhood. First she hadn't noticed it, but then she got very angry. Her pride was even more difficult to deal with than Yacko's. Perhaps, she needed it in her life, because of the problems a black girl could have. My grand-parents had had some black acquaintances, especially musicians, but the relationships were always difficult. Friendship was very rare. 

The familiar smile is returning to her face when she says the last words. That's the Mimi I know, always cheerful and not this shy. But then I think that, certainly, she had never visited a white person just for concern and sympathy. 

But now, we are comrades who have fought together.

"Do you want to come in?" 

Yacko looks at me with this glance saying: _You are always too trustful_, while unlocking the apartment door and opening. 

"Yes." 

Mimi is following us into the apartment. 

We go into the kitchen. It's far more than a simple kitchen. Rather a sitting room with a corner for cooking, separated by a counter. Yacko who is unbelievably docile proposes to make coffee and eggs, because:

"You cannot cook when you are not hurt, raccoon. You will make a complete mess out of the eggs with this arm."

Forgetting to be polite, Mimi yells at him: "Shrimp! Don't talk like that!" 

I'm too slow to give him the deserved slap. I sit down at the table, because my legs feel very wobbly now. I always have unlimited energy when I need it, but sometimes later I'm crushed by exhaustion. 

"I'm almost sorry that you had to quit that job. It was always so energizing, hearing you play when I had to work." 

Mimi sighs dramatically: "Yes, it's a pity. For the money, but more for the piano. It was one of the best pianos I know. I will participate in the examination for the Manhattan School of Music, you know."

Yacko and me exchange a glance, sharing the same thought. A unique situation.

"If you have problems to finding a good piano, we can help you." She glances skeptically. "Come, I will show you."

We leave the apartment to go over to the school. 

It's the same, every time, I open it, knowing that I would find behind the large dancing room with its mirrors and large windows, the bars and the photos, the grand piano and the old chairs. Every time, I think, I will find grand-ma speaking or explaining something, while grand-dad is waiting at the grand piano so that he could continue to play. I forget in the moment I enter the room that they have been dead for four years now. 

Sometimes, I believe that death has only taken their bodies, while their spirit, courage and love are still present. And that's the ultimate and most important reason why I will never let someone destroy what they have built, not for all the money in the world. 

Mimi's delightful shriek makes me almost jump. I have been so absorbed in my daydreams that I have forgotten her presence for a moment. Though she has bounced to the grand piano, caressing the black cover, settling herself on the seat.

DI-DI-DI-BAAM ... DI-DI-DI-BAAM ... A piano version of Beethoven's famous symphony fills the room like thunder. The glass in the windows is vibrating and I fear they might break. I'm almost glad, that the other people have already left this house. The sudden noise of loud music would have disturbed their Sunday leisure. It's not only loud Rock 'n Roll music that makes neighbors angry, but also loud classical music. I know this, because they sometimes came to complain about the school. Back then. In happier times. 

A look at the door tells me that Yacko is standing there, eating the eggs. His face has an expression I see rarely. Interest and contentment. Even if he was little when our grand-parents were still alive, I know that he remembers. Even if he complains very often about the stupid school and what a bad reputation it gives him, I know that he is old enough to understand what it meant for grand-ma and grand-dad. 

Suddenly, the thunder stops and after a short break, accompanied by a funny grimace, Mimi is playing one of the tunes I know from her performances at the bar. And she sings, revealing the rich timbre of her voice. 

Then she changes the genre again, playing a little piece of Eric Satie. I need to take a deep breath, because for my dance diploma – one year ago – I created and performed a solo choreography for this piece of music. I called it The Wooden Puppet. Even now, one year later, every step is still burned in my memory. For a moment, I forget the world around me. Even with my hurt arm, I start to move a bit. Just making the footsteps, the turns and the movements without using my arms. 

It's the dance of a wooden marionette, controlled by strings. When I created this choreography, I could not find the courage to keep on living. After father's death, I felt like the puppet, unable to move freely, bound by the strings of financial worries, the shame being the daughter of an alcoholic, the shame about his behavior in his last years and about his final suicide, the trouble and constant fights with my brother. I believed that all these strings were stronger than my courage. But I was wrong. One year later, I still kept on going despite our problems. I realized that grand-ma's sweet little girl could have an explosive temper if necessary. The puppet is free, and the dance turns out to be another one. 

Finally, I have to take a break. I'm not wearing the right clothes anyway, and at last, my arm is protesting against the movements. Of course, lost in the dance I forgot to care about my wound. 

"If you can dance you must be fine, Miss Karen." 

The voice of my dream. 

Foolish girl! Against all reason, my heart is beating fast, sending heat in my cheeks, even before I turn to look at him. Today, Kenneth Farrel is wearing a simple dark brown jacket and normal clothes, not the exotic, but beautiful costume he wore on that night. He looked so pretty and nice on that night. Like a fairy tale creature. Except his hands. I had been so shocked, seeing the burn scars on them when he was holding the steering wheel.

"Hi, Farrel!" Mimi exclaims, stopping her playing. "Now that I have seen it, I think dancing is more like gymnastics."

"Good afternoon, Miss Mimi!" Kenneth answers smiling warmly.

As usual, when we meet. As usual? How many times was this? It was only Friday, that I saw him the first time in thirteen years. But – 

Not only am I sure that he had seen me in diapers, right after my birth or crawling through these rooms, but there were those six months, he had lived here with my grand-parents. Before he had gone to Europe. I had never known, and they had never told me why they had given Kenneth shelter for those months. They just did it, while I was living with my grand-parents too. Because of the so-called illness of my father which was, as I know now, a disguised description of his alcohol problem. Mama feared that he might hurt me. 

I have a lot of memories of that time. While Kenneth wasn't going to school, we spent much time together. Oh yes, I was as much infatuated with him as a six-years-old girl could be infatuated with a teenage boy – nine years older than her.

And later, I could look at photos, thus seeing him every day because they are still hanging from the wall behind the piano with other pictures of grand-ma's students. Though, I was quite shocked about his long hair and the things the other girls had said about him during the audition. And yet, when he spoke with me, not knowing who I was, I discovered the same person as in his letters. Those letters he wrote my grand-ma, without knowing of her death, were so charming and lively. They painted vivid images of cities I had never seen. London, Paris, Berlin. Cities, my grand-parents had visited in the years before they had left Europe. Paris – yes, he had written about a performance of "The Sleeping Beauty" at the Opera of Paris.

Out of nowhere, I remember my dream about the Parisian Opera and feel more heat creeping over the skin of my face and over my neck. It's quite imprudent to dream like that of a man I only know from letters. Though, since the first time I saw him, it's like a dream becoming real.

I force myself to ignore the reaction of my body and beam at him too. But my smile freezes, when I see that he is not alone. Behind him is a young woman. A beautiful dark-haired woman, wearing elegant clothes and perfect make-up, smiling at me too, but with obvious amusement. 

"Quite gloomy, your house, little girl!" She is taller than me, not only because of her high heels, and but there is not reason to call me that. 

"What?" 

"But, you have grown up prettily, cry-baby." 

"Maggie!" 

"Sorry, Shin-chan!" Sighing, she puts her hand on his arm. "You don't have to protect her."

"Who is that?" I ask him, having regained control over my senses, amazed by my sudden anger. Don't be stupid, Karen! She might be an old acquaintance of his. But why does she have to lay her hand on him, like she has a right to do so? And why does she have a nickname for him?

"I guess you don't remember Maggie - Maria Magdalena. She is the daughter of my aunt Kumiko's husband, but you were very young when they moved over to Brooklyn. Though, I remember clearly that both of you played together." Kenneth Farrel explains calmly.

It might have been in the time of bliss and happiness, before mama died. We had a lot of friends and there were always children to play with me, but I don't remember her. 

"Don't worry, girl. You always cried when I started to tease you, perhaps you just wanted to forget." 

Yacko who's skeptical eyes wander from Kenneth to the woman and back, starts to grin at her words. 

If this woman was like that, even as a girl, I had lots of reasons to forget her. 

"Maggie, what are you doing? Would you please stop teasing her!" 

Kenneth seems to be very embarrassed about her behavior. Maggie just sighs, waving a little box she is carrying. 

"Come on, girl! Let me have a look at your wound!" 

"What?"

"I wasn't sure, if you would visit a doctor, like I advised you, Miss Karen. That's the reason why I have brought the doctor to you." He points in the direction of this woman. Is she a doctor? I don't believe it. She is too young.

"I think we should go into your apartment!" She grips my arm, glancing seductively at Kenneth. "Even if there is no occasion to offend your pure-"

"Maggie! Would you please be quiet!" All of sudden, he is blushing deeply, looking very pretty like that. Oh Karen, don't be so stupid!

The insolent woman only laughs and grips my arm. We go in the kitchen, and she puts a little bag on the table. 

"Come on, girl! Sit down!" I obey her, still doubtful about her capacities. Quickly, I understand that I was terribly wrong about that. Smiling, she admits to me that she hasn't finished her studies yet, but is working as an assistant doctor now. I'm almost surprised at how gentle her hands are, as she is helping me get out of my blouse, removing the old bandage. Concentration and concern on her face. No trace of mocking. "It was good that you went to the Hospital right after this incident, with the stitching, the wound will heal well and the scar will not be too ugly." I prefer to say nothing instead of lying. "The healing process will go on without complication if you keep this arm still. It might take some time though, because the cut has torn the muscles. For that reason you should avoid moving it too much." 

"Do you mean, I cannot go to work?"

"For some days, three or four, you should not move it at all, and even after this, you should not overdo it."

I bite my lip. No work, no money. Those bastards managed to increase my problems. The same men who are part of my problems.

It had been a shock when I remembered yesterday, what I hadn't seen that night. Something my mind had only subconsciously registered. I knew more than one of those men. They were hired hands of that man who wanted to buy this house, wanted to convert it into a sort of luxury casino. 

I don't know what will happen, if they remember me too. That night, they didn't. I'm almost sure, because they were drunk and had insulted only Mimi. But, maybe, one of them will remember and relate to his boss that I'm in more trouble than ever. That I might possibly not be able to pay the next payoff. Shit! I don't curse very often, but now I want to spit out all the bad words I know. Instead of that, my lips are trembling. 

"Don't cry, girl!" Maggie takes my chin and lifts up my head. "Do you need money or other help?"

I would swallow my tongue before I ask her for money. 

"Why don't you tell her, that we need money?" Yacko has appeared in the kitchen, goes to the kitchen corner and puts the pan in the sink. "Or tell to the red-head?" He begins to scrub the pan vigorously. "Yes, I have verified that he was one of grand-ma's students. It was the one who wrote the letters, wasn't he?" Maggie is laughing quietly when Yacko mentions the letters, putting her instruments back in her box and laying more bandage packs on the table. Yacko continues, scrubbing. "He wasn't here the last years? Then dad cannot have borrowed money from him!"

"Yacko!" 

How could he blurt out all our problems in front of that woman? Where is his pride now? 

My growing anger is crushed before I can it let out. A voice is singing, sweet and innocent, in girlish nostalgia:

__

Puerto Rico,  
You lovely island, 

Yacko has already left the kitchen, after the first sound. 

Oh yes, in a sudden attack of superstition, I had bought the score of the "West Side Story". Believing it would bring me luck. But it didn't work. 

__

Island of tropical breezes  
Always the pine apples growing,  
Always the coffee blossoms blowing.

"I wonder why he didn't get this job." 

"What job?" 

Only after Maggie's question, I realize that I have expressed my thoughts out loud. 

"I have met Kenneth on Friday, at a try out for 'West Side Story'. It looked as if the director would give him a special job, but later, he told me that he didn't."

She doesn't answer, but the expression of her eyes is strange.

After a while, she repeats: "If you need any help, financial or otherwise, please tell me.", while we are hearing Mimi singing with a darker, mock-seductive voice: 

__

Puerto Rico,   
You ugly island,  
Island of tropic diseases.

Over there in the dancing studio, Yacko is laughing as he hasn't for a long time.

"Why do you say that?"

"Shin-chan does not have much money, but he is very worried about you." He is worried about me. Once again, I switch between happiness and anger. Why does he think he has to worry about me? Why doesn't he speak with _me_ about it? "I will do anything I can to make him happy."

__

Always the hurricanes blowing,  
Always the population growing,  
And the money owing,

Maggie's words and her eyes are scaring me. I don't need to ask her for her reasons. Oh yes, she loves him. No doubt. 

__

And the babies crying,   
And the bullets flying. 

"Don't you dare cry, silly girl!" I swallow while she is standing up. "You are quite emotional, after all. Must be artistic behavior!" 

She is sighing and leaves me alone. 

__

I like the island Manhattan.  
Smoke on your pipe and put that in!  
As I hear her laughter, too, I follow her to the dancing studio. What I see, makes me freeze in amazement, with slacked jaw. 

__

I like to be in America!  
O. K. by me in America!  
Ev'rything free in America  
For a small fee in America!

While Mimi is singing the chorus, alone but with a voice strong enough for more than one woman, Kenneth is dancing – well, yes, the Puerto Rican girls. In Flamenco style, waving imagined skirts. His face emotionless as it is fitting for Flamenco, his movements passionate. At last, he waves his beret with a swift movement, like a toreador's cap.

I'm grinning. Yacko is shaking in laughter, and Maggie holds her hand over her mouth, face red. Mimi can just barely finish her singing, before she falls over on the piano, laughing too. 

Kenneth is smiling sheepishly, adjusting his beret, then putting his hands in the pockets of his pants, blushing slightly.

"You missed the dance of the great seductress." Yacko explains me when he has enough breath to speak.

"I didn't know that it could be hilarious." Mimi says. "but, it's still really queer."

Obviously, they had discussed dance when he drove her home. Now, he is just shrugging, taking his jacket that he had laid over a chair.

"Why don't we go out for lunch? We can put all our money together, and I think we will have enough to pay for all of us." 

We all look at him, somewhat startled, but, finally, all agree that it is a real good idea. 

*

We don't have to walk, because we can go in that beautiful car again. It is Maggie who takes the driver seat. Of course, Yacko wants to come with us, even if he has already eaten the eggs and even if he doesn't really deserve to go out after this morning. 

"It's such a great car." Mimi says, trying to bounce, but she has no room, there being three in the backseat. But her braids are swinging with the vivid moves of her head. "And it went so fast."

"Where to?" 

Kenneth is coughing.

"To Harlem. Farrel was so nice to drive me home." Mimi explains cheerfully. "Oops!"

"Shin-chan!" Maggie's voice grows slightly menacing, while in the mirror, I'm seeing Kenneth biting his bottom lip, to hold back a smile. "Don't tell me you took a trip half way around the world with my car?"

"Isn't it your car, Farrel?" 

"Did I ever say, that it was my car, Miss Mimi?" 

"One point for you, Farrel."

"And I thought, you had to sleep because of exhaustion, Shin-chan." Now the color of his skin is matching the color of his hair. I never saw a man blushing like that. Normally, it is me who blushes like that. "So, you were on the road the entire night? With that idiot? But, you didn't let him drive, I hope." Coughing again. "No! How could you, Shin-chan? That idiot had puked all over my dress in that same night. And do you know what he had done with Arthur's previous car?"

I can imagine, as much as I remember that Sam Sherman. He looked like a troublemaker. A man who went out without a shirt. Quite sexy, but stupid. Karen! I call myself back to reason. Amazing what I had seen in just one night, in addition to being wounded. 

"You know Arthur, too?" Mimi interrupts Maggie's question. "This is very good. I don't trust the rooster with that affair."

"What rooster?" Then, already stopping the car at a vacant parking place, Maggie starts to smile even more mischievously than she had before. "You speak of Sam, that idiot?"

"Yes, the cocky guy, Arthur's cousin, so –"

"Rooster is good." Maggie is laughing, while we are getting out of the car. "It's a good variation to idiot."

"Was it that guy with the black leather jacket?" Yacko asks. "Who had written 'bad' on his back?"

"Yes, that is his special label." Maggie returns. "He never goes out without the jacket."

"That may be right. But I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about Arthur."

We are going to the Imperial Diner which is an ancient railroad car and have occupied a free table. Kenneth seems to be relieved that Mimi is occupying Maggie's attention. I feel a bit dizzy because of all their chatting, but I think this is mostly caused by the pain in my arm. Aside from that, I feel very good. It's been a long time since I have gone out with so many people. 

The appearance of a waitress interrupts the chatting for a few moments, until we have all chosen our meals.

"What is with Arthur?" Maggie finally replies to Mimi's statement.

"Who is this guy anyway?"

"He is a genius, shrimp! Intelligent, charismatic, courageous, beautiful – The king of music." 

Must be the perfect man. 

"Is that the reason that you call him 'King Arthur'?" Kenneth queries smirking. 

"This is one reason, yes. Besides, we are in searching for the perfect music. And it's like the search for the Holy Grail. King Arthur told us the story about that quest. He knows a lot of fantastic stories anyway."

Maggie nods. "That's true. He has read a lot, and it is very interesting to discuss things with him. And he is a fantastic musician too." Her eyes are shining strangely when she talks about him. What is with that woman? Is she in love with all men she knows, or what? She cannot have them all. "I never understood why Arthur gave up a real musical career for tiring struggles in the slums." 

She should not have said that because, immediately, Mimi is getting very upset. "Thank you very much! How can you belittle his courage like that? He is ready to do something about things going wrong in this country, doing something about the incredible injustice. Not only discussing it with other intellectuals like you. He saw that you just let us play our slave music, which is fine for you, but you don't want to have us at your tables and in your concert halls. He saw how wrong that was, and he wanted to do something. He knew, that only white people, especially Jews, have real access to that world of music, art or the beautiful words he loved." 

What she is saying, hits me, even more, because she repeats common ideas. And at first, 

I'm too hurt to reply. Only when Yacko opens his mouth, looking really furious, I hold my hand 

over his mouth. 

"You will always be welcome at my table, or to make music in our rooms. And you can ask me anytime for whatever help you need. You can think what you want, but you should not speak like this again with my brother, or me. Insulting us because of our religion." I say very calmly. Perhaps I should be more polite because Mimi has been insulted first, but I have to say what has to be said. 

Mimi is swallowing, then glances irritated from me to Yacko. 

"I'm not sorry to have said the truth," She answer slightly defiant. "but I'm sorry that I have offended you. You are a very nice person, I didn't know that you are Jewish." Because I feel how embarrassed she is, despite her defiance, I nod, accepting her excuse. "I'm sorry." She is repeating slowly. "But, nobody has a right to insult King Arthur."

"Why do you think, I want to insult him, girl with the quick tongue?" Maggie replies. "I just can see that he's changed since the time I knew him. That something is devouring him. Sorry, if you cannot stand the truth."

Before the discussion goes off in a bad direction again, I am distracted by the appearance of Mister Cagney. His presence smoothes the tense atmosphere, and when he is gone, I'm happy that we have another subject.

"Mister Cagney lives in our neighborhood." I have been surprised to see Mister Cagney, and more surprised about his concern for my health. Normally, he shows no real interest in other people. Not, beyond his profession. "He is a private detective."

"A private detective?" 

Is that an optical illusion? Or do Kenneth's eyes really narrow a bit?

"That's what is written on the door of his office." Yacko says, as insolently as ever, munching. "But he has very strange connections for a detective. And he annoys everyone with his search for old weapons, especially swords."

At the last remark Kenneth's eyes are changing from thoughtful to amused, and Maggie is laughing.

"Whenever the crazy wish appears to sell your sword, you know whom to ask." When she sees our stunned faces, she explains. "He inherited an ancient sword from some Japanese relative."

"What use could _you _have for a sword?" Mimi and Yacko ask at the same moment. I only think it.

"What's the problem?" He looks very serious again. "If I had an apartment on my own, I could hang it on the wall. Then people visiting me would have a ready subject for conversation. Yes, I suppose it might be a good idea for a party. People making small talk about it, imagining stories. Asking what use _I_ could have for a sword. Or better, I could put it in a funny frame, or in a Champaign cooler, or in a toilet basin. Then it would be art, and the same people might even take me for an avant-garde artist. I would have lots of money, because gallery tenants would want me to make an exhibition in their galleries." Mimi has already started grinning, and finally, we all are laughing. 

*

It's almost four in the afternoon when we get back home, climbing the stairway in silence. My heartbeat is so fast. And I feel stupid and delightful at the same time. 

The last three hours have been very animated. In the diner, I told them a bit, but not too much, about the school and that we hadn't had students for over two years. Then, we discussed Mimi's future plans. Covering that she would use our piano for her exercises and accompanying me, whenever I could gain some students, as a form of reward. I even proposed to her that she could give piano lessons for children, but she said that nobody in my neighborhood would send his children to a black piano teacher. She might be right.

After this, I had a violent argument with Kenneth because he doubted my teaching abilities. 

"I don't think that you should concentrate only on the school. After all, you are too young to direct a dance school." He dared to say in my face. I threw knives and forks at him, not bothering with the hilarious laughter of the others. I didn't stop, until the waitress came shyly to our table. My embarrassment gave him time to explain that it wasn't meant as an insult. "Think about it, Miss Karen. You have just finished your own education. No doubt, you have lots of talent, but for teaching you need experience. Far more experience than you have now. Besides, why do you want to start with the end?" 

I threw the napkin at him too. But I knew that he was right. Grand-ma started the school after the end of her professional career. All dance teachers I knew did it. 

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Form a group, go on stage. You have a room. In this city there are enough jobless dancers. And I don't think that it would be a problem to find a theatre for performances."

"I'm sure that you could use the 'Velvet' if Shin-chan would ask nicely for it."

This time the look he gave her was nearly deadly. You have overdone it, vixen! I felt simultaneous silent triumph and shame.

"Oh yes, the 'Velvet'! That's the best thing about losing my job. Finally, I can go and see King Arthur whenever I want."

And in that way, we returned to Mimi's favorite and special subject: Arthur Sherman. As long as she spoke about him, I understood what the former allusions meant. Obviously, that man really gave up a grant for the Manhattan School of Music to labor in Harlem as a social worker, teaching music to the street kids. Not only that, but he and some other people had bought a theatre and some rooms in SoHo to provide a place for musical exchanges between all sorts of people. So, he believed in the healing forces of music. That meant he was a dreamer like the rest of us. For a second, I thought about how he got the money to realize all those dreams, but I didn't ask. 

It was only when Maggie suddenly remembered that she had a date, that we left the diner. While we were going to the car, Mimi said that she had better go home, because the man she called grand-father would get worried. So Maggie dropped her near the next subway station, before she drove to my house. When Kenneth told her that he wanted to stay here a bit longer, Maggie was somewhat irritated. However, she seemed not to be angry, but rather excited, when she was leaving us. 

That left us alone, Kenneth, Yacko and me.

*

"I want to suggest something to you." Kenneth says when we are sitting at the grand table in the kitchen. Even Yacko has stayed with us, legs drawn to his chest and hugged by his arms. But, he still looks somewhat defiant at Kenneth. "You will not be able to work for a few days, but I think you might need the money. What would you say if I work for you, being a temp so to say?"

I'm stunned, and for a few minutes, my voice is gone. Yacko is gaping and blinking his eyes.

"But, do you have any experience in such jobs?" 

Kenneth shrugs. "Sometimes, I didn't earn enough money with the dance, I had to take other jobs. Working in restaurants has been one of them." He says it lightly, as if it was nothing special. I believe that if I would query him about his other jobs, I would gape like Yacko. Finally, he shrugs again, following with one finger the grain in the table. "What do you think about it?"

"You mean, you would work in her place? For free?" Yacko interferes, still amazed. 

"Yes, why not?" Why not? I shake my head at his statement. "It's the least I could do for you, for your family. And it would not even be enough to repay all that I owe you."

Yacko laughs. "Honestly, you are the first of grand-ma's ancient students who doesn't asking for money."

Kenneth looks at him, then back to me. Finally, he shakes his head. 

"No, I have no right to ask for anything from you." He says, his voice suddenly unsteady. "On the contrary, as I said, I owe your family a lot. I –" Quickly, he turns his face away from us, covering his eyes with a hand. "I'm sorry." 

All of sudden, I understand. Wanting to slap my head for my ignorance. I understand the true reason why he wanted to accompany us home without the others. It's a belated visit of condolence. 

"I would be glad to accept your offer. Anyway, you only need to replace me for three nights. Wednesday and Thursday are my free days." The words leave my mouth faster than I thought they would. Now, that I know that he felt an obligation towards my family, it is easier to accept it. It is not humiliating any longer. And the light in his eyes repays me for my decision. "Besides, if you ever need a place to stay, you can have the little apartment behind the school." 

It is rather only one single room with a bathroom and a kitchenette. First, it was the apartment of my father, before he had married mama and they moved in another apartment some blocks from here. Then, my grand-parents rented it to single people. I didn't have any luck with my boarders, especially the last one who was a real pest and harassed me, until I kicked him out. 

"We will see." Kenneth replies indecisively, and Yacko who had opened his mouth to protest, shuts it. "I cannot take advantage of your situation, Miss Karen, but I will consider it." 

Something has been annoying me all this time. "Would you please stop calling me 'miss'! You've known me now for – well, since I was born. Don't you think, you can call me by my name?" 

Now, he is smiling again, a bit apologetically. 

"Okay, Karen. It was just caused by my confusion, because I hadn't thought that the little girl I knew would be such a fine young lady. In my mind, you were still a young tomboy. I'm sorry about it."

After this, we sit for a while in silence, while Yacko is goes to the fridge. This boy! He never stops eating. It's just two hours since he had finished his meal in the diner.

"I'm sorry to ask you this, but when did -?" Kenneth's voice is husky, when he finally asks the question, he came to ask. 

"Four years ago. Out of nowhere, grand-pa had a heart-attack in the street, and he died few days after that in the hospital." It's the time, I've spoken about it. Deep inside me, I know that this is the true reason why I don't like to go to hospitals. It's not for the lack of money, or the fear of trouble. It's for the memory of grand-pa laying in the white bed and the face of grand-ma. "I never thought, that she loved him this much. She always appreciated other men looking after her, and not only the men. Sometimes she made him suffer, but when he died she faded within few months. You know, like clothes you wash in too hot water loose their color. She died six months later. Nobody could explain it. In books, in operas and ballets, people die of broken hearts, it's a theme. But, I think, it can happen in reality too."

"They had a very intense relationship." Kenneth is gazing on the table, but I see him swallow. Then he is wiping his eyes quickly before he raises his head to look at me. "Maybe, she needed him to keep her feet on the ground."

First, I don't understand what he means, but then I think about father. How he lost the ground under his feet until he chose to die deliberately. He had nobody to stay with him like grand-dad stayed with grand-ma. 

Some minutes later, I'm surprised to hear myself speaking about father, the problems he had to keep money together, and his behavior that damaged the reputation of the school. Although he promised to fix up all things when he was sober, our situation ended up being a mess. Kenneth is listening attentively, his eyes filled with deep sorrow.

"Luckily, I had my own education to distract myself from it. It was grand-ma who told me that I should concentrate on my career." Thinking about this, is already enough to cheer my mind up. "I got a scholarship for a very good Dance School." 

This was a real triumph for me. The first time, I had reached a goal with my own strength. 

"That's wonderful. I failed in a few competitions." I can read in his face, that the last words came out almost against his will. 

"But you have been in Paris?"

Although his eyes are still a bit sad, he smiles: "It was my last chance, one of these things I owe to your grand-mother. She helped me with her contacts." 

"If you start chatting about dance now, we could do something more useful." Yacko interrupts us. "What's for supper?"

*

How could I forget this? I must absolutely convince Kenneth to stay with us, because he created something very delightful from the few things we had in the fridge. How could I forget his cooking? Even Yacko was impressed, and he lost a bit of his defiance as long as we were eating. 

That's what I'm thinking, laying in my bed. When Kenneth would live with us, it would be like reviving the past times, because we would be three people again. Almost a family.

Author's notes:

1. Let's talk about the characters! As I said in the Author's notes of the first chapter, Karen is Kaoru. I think after the first two chapters, it has been clear that this story will not turn out to be K+K. However, for justice, I wanted to give Karen/Kaoru a voice too and make her an interesting character. Karen is not a Martial arts master like Kaoru, but in a transfigured sense, she is a fighter and has Kaoru's self-discipline. 

2. Let's talk about the characters (II)! Yes, I think quick prejudges are a part of Misao's character, but it doesn't make her a "bad" person, and some of Mimi's prejudges in this story are a result of her education. 

3. Let's talk about the characters (III)! Karen's grand-parents are my original characters. They haven't such an important role like Kumiko and later appearing original characters, but their lives have still consequences for the other characters, like Karen, or Shintaro. Jasper Cagney is Chou, a little bit darker version of Chou, but still him. Only his hair is shorter, because, honestly, punks do not appear before the Eighties. 

4. Let's talk about New York! The Empire Diner is located in Chelsea. I don't know if it is cheap or not, but I like how it looks.

5. Let's talk about lifestyle! "The Sleeping Beauty", ballet composed by Tchaikovsky. In 1961, it has was performed in Paris with the famous Russian ballet-dancer Rudolf Nureyev. That's when Shintaro has saw it. By the way, his character is partly inspired by Nureyev anyway.   
Beethoven = Do I need to say something about him?   
Eric Satie: French composer form the Beginning of the 20th century, especially famous for his piano pieces who have often funny titles like "The march of a fat man, formed like a pear". His most famous pieces are the "Gnossiennes" which are very often used for advertising. (By the way, it's very difficult to create the impression of music with words. Imagine whatever music you think fitting to a marionette.)  
"America" = One of the famous songs from the "West Side Story".  
The sakabatou in the toilet basin = it's one of my silly jokes again. The French artist Marcel Duchamp set a toilet basin on a rostrum, declaring it an art work. The same Marcel Duchamp lived in Greenwich Village in the Twenties. Though, the Sixties were the time of pop-art (Andy Warhol again), I think that idea it's quite fitting for pop-art.

Last but not least, the thank. Thank you, Shini no Miko and Fitz for your reviews. They were very encouraging for me. Especially, because the creation of this story in a language in which I'm not really sensible, is sometimes a very difficult birth. 

Thank you Wombat for reminding me that I should not make this story too complicated (though I did it nonetheless) and for your recommendation of literature.

Posted first: 12.09.2002

Revision: 19-10-2002

Revision: 22-02-2003


	4. Chapter 4: Suspicious Mind

****

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

(Warning for language, a kind of foreplay and expression of controversial political opinions.)

****

Chapter 4: Suspicious Mind

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5) 

You have decided to take part in that war for the sake of Japan. For the preservation of our warrior's pride and honor you believe it is necessary. Perhaps, you are right. It is difficult to say what the truth is. But, one thing is sure, this war will only be the beginning of a new circle of warfare and bloodshed.   
I really believed that the war I had fought in would be the end of all wars. I really believed that the new era would bring peace for the helpless. That no one would have to do things I had done. That no one would shed the blood of innocent people again.   
I believed it, and I was wrong. 

****

New York, May 11, 1965 

Human condition. Human weaknesses. Henry Shatner studied the documents sent from Los Angeles. He felt that he had become too attached to the Farrel affair again. After all, observing him was not a top priority, but Shatner couldn't help it. The knowledge of his failure kept him thinking. And there were so many questions left. 

In the center of all this was a young undercover agent who had killed himself with his car. The investigations had been closed after this, because the man left a full confession, exonerating Farrel from a couple of crimes he had been accused of. Shatner, however, was still skeptical, and he reflected on the weakness of the human mind. The reasons why a serious and conscientious agent could fail in his duties, could forget them for something volatile like attraction. Shatner gazed at the photos of a crushed car. Then he looked at another photo. It showed a young man with serious, regular features. This serene face betrayed nothing of the inner emotional volcano. 

"Boss," Shatner raised his eyes at the sudden intrusion of one of his subordinates. "I beg your pardon, Sir, but we have received the telegram from Germany we have been waiting for."

Shatner nodded and the man handed him the paper. After twenty hours, they had finally found out that one of the supposed names, Marco Sevarelli, appeared on the list of a flight from Frankfurt, but the airport staff couldn't give any details about the man. He seemed to be just an ordinary American-Italian business man, working at the Frankfurt trading floor. After that, Shatner had asked one of his CIA contacts in Germany to collect some information. But he hadn't expected such a prompt reaction. 

The telegram informed him that Sevarelli had not worked in Frankfurt, but had traveled for his health to southern Germany and that he had travelled in company of a young Asian woman. They hadn't found any Asian name on the passengers list, which meant that the woman had taken another flight. Shatner remembered that Jasper Cagney mentioned a woman as a part of the inner circle of this organization. He would speak with him tomorrow about new strategies.

"What else?" He asked his subordinate who was still waiting with another paper in his hands.

"I took the liberty of verifying the passenger list of that flight again, because I had discovered something irritating. First, I though it was just a joke, but later I concluded that it must be a hint." The young man laid the paper on the desk and indicated a name. It was an English name. "This could be an alias too."

"Why do you think so?"

The man blushed a bit.

"It's the name of a movie hero, of movies about spies." Shatner recognized that this young man felt somewhat ashamed to confess his predilection. He knew that his men feared his dry comments, but now, he was far from wanting to intimidate his subordinate. It was exactly for connecting ideas as absurdly as they may appear, that he had selected his men. 

A movie? 

***

I wake up some minutes before the alarm-clock is ringing, covered with sweat and struggling for breath. Paranoia, I think, standing under the cold shower. It's only paranoia, caused by the shock about my discovery in the "Velvet". Don't bother with useless speculations! It's only paranoia to believe that I had seen a very old acquaintance, speaking with that blonde private detective. It must be paranoia that I feel as if someone was watching me since that day. It's only paranoia to believe that the apparition of the young barkeeper from the "Velvet" in Karen's club could have any meaning. It's only paranoia to believe ... My mantra doesn't work. I know it better. Some years ago, a man who knew a bit too much about me, said that I was a magnet for trouble. If someone would put shit on the street, I would be the one to step into it. In the last few years, that instinct – wasn't it paranoia, some minutes before, idiot? – whatever, it saved my life more than one time. And now, there is much shit on the streets, and I have already stepped into it. So deep, that, immediately, I regretted returning to New York. 

Oh no! I should concentrate on more pressing problems, instead of torturing myself like this. First, after getting dressed, I could make a breakfast of a sandwich, and coffee. Coffee is most important. Coffee is a very good idea.

That's what I do. I put some cheese, ham and cucumber on my peanut sandwiches and carry them to the table. Then I pour coffee into my cup and put it on the table too. The "Village Voice" is still lying where I left it last night. The red circled job offer reminds me why I had to get up so early, after four hours of sleep. I take the phone from the hall in the kitchen and sit down. 

One ... two ... three ... "Gelbstein's bookstore. What can I do for you?" It's the old man himself who answers my call. He still has that strange accent of his, even after more than thirty years in this country. 

"Good morning, Mister Gelbstein! My name is Kenneth Farrel, and I –"

"Farrel? Kenneth?" Interrupting me, he repeats the name slowly. Oh, no! "I believe I know the name." What a remarkable memory! "Wasn't it the little Kenneth who loved the candies I put in the big glass on the counter? He always tried to get some behind my back, for him and for his other friends. Am I right?" He speaks more with himself than with me, but I'm blushing. Deeply. The stealing of candies was supposed to be one of my many tests of courage for the other kids.

"Yes, Mister Gelbstein, you are right. I am sorry for it, Mister Gelbstein!" I remember having excused myself already, because Kumiko dragged me in the store when she found out about my stealing. Humiliating me without mercy, damaging my reputation one more time. 

The old man laughed quietly. "What can I do for you, Kenneth Farrel?"

"I am calling about the job offer: _We are looking for a courageous salesperson for our bookstore_. Is it still available?"

For some minutes, he doesn't say anything. Maybe, the job is already taken, or he doesn't trust someone who stole candies from him. In this silence, the doorbell is ringing, almost scaring me off. Who could it be? Did something happen ...?

"Why don't you come visit me, Kenneth Farrel? And we will speak calmly about it." 

"I would like it, Mister Gelbstein. I will be there as soon as possible." The doorbell is ringing again, more insistently this time. I cover the receiver with my hand and yell: "I am coming, please wait!" 

"Don't rush, Kenneth Farrel! I wouldn't like you to have an accident." 

"Don't worry! See you later, Mister Gelbstein!" 

I cut the connection. Then I sprint to the apartment door and fling it open, almost stumbling against the person standing before. "Ha!" I gasp. To say that I'm surprised would be the greatest understatement of the year. I'm stunned. Black leather pants, black leather jacket, dark red shirt, spiky hair, skin like caramel, eyes like chocolate. Sam Sherman. He grins down on me like the cat who caught the canary, although he is looking somewhat tired. To tell the truth, he looks as if he had passed the night on the road again. He smells like that, too. And finally, my stunned reaction is replaced by slight anger, not by joy. "What do you want?"

"Aren't you happy to see me? I thought you wanted to see me again." 

Sam's voice is a bit unsteady, and his smile loses a little of its confidence. His breath smells of beer and whatever. When he leans himself against the doorframe, I step back a couple of feet. He should take a shower, or wash rather, than trying to seduce me, or whatever he intends.

"I have not very much time, because I have to go to Manhattan for a job interview."

Now, he laughs and leans nearer to me. "Obviously, you always have a job to do. Last night, when I was here, you had been on the road for a job too." He had been here last night. What for? "I wanted to tell someone about my wonderful adventure, but the love birds didn't want to talk with me. Maggie told me that, perhaps, you would like to hear it, but you weren't there." 

An adventure? I don't feel in the least like hearing something about his late night carousing. And Maggie? Since Friday, she has tried more and more to push me around. As if her knowledge about me would give her some rights. Like her manner of speaking with Karen. It really pissed me off. However, it is not Sam's fault, that Maggie desires to manage my life for me. 

"And since you left them, you were on the road?" I ask him. "Why did you not go home?"

He snorts. "Why should I? Can you imagine how boring it is, living with Arthur? Can anyone imagine how much this fucking guy annoys me?" Oh yes, I can. I take a deep breath, trying to chase away that image of Arthur lying in the technical room of the "Velvet". "No, I tried to find someone else to talk to, but I had no luck. All my buddies were somewhere else. So I'm back here again."

He speaks with his straightforward attitude, as if joking. But I think that he might feel somewhat lonely, if he couldn't find people to speak with beside me. And he has something, that touches me. Why does he need such a strong vital barrier, covering insecurity with bluntness and aggressive sexuality? It appears that he is not even conscious of this but I can sense it. Maybe it's better that way, because he could turn my major weakness against me – my incapacity to reject someone who is asking for whatever help. 

"As I said, I have not very much time, but you can come in and freshen up a bit. Maybe, you want breakfast too." I propose, managing a smile, and he accepts all my offers. 

First, the offer for a bathroom. Meanwhile I make some more sandwiches and another coffee. 

I'm surprised that he has come to visit me. I had not thought so much about him. I had not even told Maggie more than some hints, leaving her lots of room for speculation. Refusing her offer to accompany her to the "Underground", how she referred to the place where the band was playing usually on Saturday nights. Why should I have gone? No, I know myself. I'm a genius for getting myself into trouble. Friday night has proved it one more time.

However, I was strangely touched, when Maggie told me that Sam hadannoyed her with questions about me. I didn't expect it. New night – new target. That's what I thought about him, although I had so much fun with him that night. And kissing him! Good grief! How could I forgot how sweet the kissing was? It was as if I had been one of the living dead. The sensation had been so overwhelming that I almost forgot myself. My body was simply craving for sex, my hands and lips for heated skin. It was a joke to say that I would consider it, because I wanted it so badly at that moment. Then I realized how scared he was. I didn't really understand why, but I knew that I had to be careful with him. More careful than I thought, after all his stupid joking, showing off. I sensed that he was more at ease when I just flirted with him. 

"You should wear it down." Sam's voice interrupts my reflections, startling me. He continues in the same, thoughtful mode of speaking. "Your hair. You should wear it down. With a ponytail like that, it looks really fine, but I think you should wear it down." 

"Do you always give fashion advice?" 

"No," He returns grinning, leaving the door and sitting down at the table. "it's just what I'm thinking in that moment. Why would you hide your hair?" 

It was a psychological necessity for my mental balance to change my appearance. Letting my hair grow was the easiest and cheapest possibility. But I don't look for trouble with the police, that's the reason why I wear it hidden under my beret. For the same reason I quit using make-up. Besides, I feel free to choose the appearance I want, and not to play a defined role. I had already had enough of playing defined roles with other men.

However, I don't express any of these thoughts. 

"What's the adventure you wanted to tell me about?" I ask Sam, setting a cup of coffee and sandwiches before him and sitting down too. 

First, he looks at me very peculiarly, but he doesn't insist. I liked this when we were on the road together. He accepted every limit I set, maybe understanding that I did the same for him. Finally, his face melts in a large pleased smile.

"I got a part in a movie. Last evening, I had a prize fight, and there was a guy looking out for people to play in that movie. As extras."

A movie! Now, I understand why Maggie believed I would like to hear about it. But she is wrong. 

"What's the movie about?" I ask nevertheless. 

"It's a kind of science-fiction movie. You know, a crazy professor tries to take over the world. We have to play his full-automatic robot clones. It's a German professor." He explains enthusiastically, and it is the first time that I see him speak about something with passion, with brilliant eyes, without faked emotions. Except for sex, I mean. That's why I swallow my dry comment, that it is always a German professor who tries to take over the world. In movies, or comic books. 

"Why are they making the movie in New York? Why they don't make it in a studio in Hollywood?"

"No idea. But, it suits me, because I can play in it. And they even use a shack in my neighborhood as a sort of studio." Sam shrugs and drinks. Then his eyes widen in surprise. "This is a real coffee. Maybe, not perfect, but it's definitively not just brown colored water." I hide my smile behind my sandwich, asking myself what meaning it has for him that someone could make so-called real coffee. "Maggie told me that you have been in Hollywood. Were you in the movies?"

Good grief! I never thought about this. Out of nowhere, my skin is crawling with disgust, the idea is chilling. If someone had made a movie of me, I wouldn't even have noticed it. I know about the photos, only because I saw them later.

"No," I answer, faking a calm I don't feel. "I just worked for a restaurant, doing catering services for the crews."

"I think it must have been great, to see how they make movies." Sam has leaned back on the chair and grins more for himself than for me. He is right. The operations of the crew, as far as I could observe them, have been really the only interesting thing for me. "So, how was it?" 

"What?"

"Hollywood. What do you think I'm talking about?" 

"I did not like it." I hated it. Los Angeles, the city of angels, had been hell for me. Just thinking about it, and makes nausea rise up in my throat. "It is all a fake, and it is like a beast devouring other people's lives and dreams." I say sharply, standing up to put away the dishes. Then I take tobacco and leaves out of the pocket of my pants and begin to roll a cigarette. Shit! I look at my hands. Wonderful! I could be the perfect subject for a psychological study…. Get off!, I think, sending the cigarette in a perfect arc in the open trashcan. "Anyway, I have to go now, and you should go home to sleep."

I turn around to face him, meeting a quite inquisitive gaze from his eyes. After a moment of irritation, he shrugs and says: "Hey, I have a car. Why don't you let me repay your favor from the other night?" 

"It would be quicker to take the subway." 

"But, imagine the fun you could have in my company. I'm guaranteed fun. As I said, I'm witty and sexy. What better reason could you have to come with me?"

His self-confident remark makes me smile again. It is so easy to smile with him. Not the smile of gentle politeness I'm used to, just something issuing from my heart. 

"Okay, but do not think I am foolish." I say, coming nearer to him. The excitement he radiates is almost visible. Does he really believe I would make him sexual offers in this apartment? Of course, I can smell that he had used the bathroom to get washed, but there is no chance for it. However, I intent to use his expectations for my own fun. "I know that this is not your car, but Arthur's. And I know that you have ruined his previous car." As I am almost touching him, feeling his arms lifting to grip me, I sneak my hand in the pocket of his jacket where I have perceived the car key and fish it out, stepping out of his reach before he realizes what I have done. "That means, that I will drive the car. You do not know the way anyway."

He protests, but he is no match for me. After the ten minutes I need to do my hair, we get on the road.

*

I should have taken the subway, letting Sam driving home alone. The traffic is horrible, just stop and go. We will need more than two hours to get to Mister Gelbstein's bookstore. 

But, by that time, I start to feel good in Sam's company again. I allow him the little triumph of hearing about my childhood foolishness. Like the stealing of candies and other similar occupations, including my only participation in a real break-in as another proof of courage. Its circumstances had not been so amusing, but with the passing of the years it becomes easier to joke about such things. 

"In the end, your life has been quite exciting." He comments, grinning at the stories I tell him. He has not the slightest idea of how much truth resides in his words, but it does not disturb me now. He doesn't speak so much about his childhood activities, except for movies. 

"What about the prize fight you mentioned? Do you do things like that very often?"

I do not like that idea, but not for altruistic, or pacifist reasons. I just feel regret, that his beautiful features might be damaged by blows. Besides, I cannot see any sense in spending your life fighting. It's quite useful to know self-defense, especially because nobody expects it from a gay man, but I would not solely rely on it.

"Well, when I came to New York, my first intention was to become a boxing champion. I had already won a bit money in boxing matches. And, now, I haven't decided yet, if I still want to be a famous boxer, or a famous musician."

"I would prefer you choosing music. It would be a shame to have your looks damaged." I tease him, and suddenly, it is as if a haze of confusion and fury is laid over his face. Before, Sam says something, I continue. "I can understand, that you like fighting, because people think that you are sexy. But when you sing you can have this feeling even more intensely."

The strange expression fades and his lips curl in a mischievous smile. He has gotten the point. Then he slaps his forehead. "I almost forgot." Sam is pulling my ultimate self-defense weapon out of his pocket and swings it before my eyes. "You dropped it, and I thought you might miss it."

I supposed, I had lost it, when we fought off those assholes who attacked Karen and Mimi. However, I didn't remember clearly when I lost it. Could it be that Sam had kept it with him the last few days? In the simple hope that I would miss it? After all, chains were cheap, even fake silver chains. 

"Thank you for keeping it! But there was no need to bother you with this." 

"You didn't miss it?" 

I bite my lips, because he looks like a sad puppy. 

"No," I say and feel very crude. "Why should I? It is just a chain." 

"Can I confess something stupid to you?" 

"Go on!" I return chuckling, parking the car, because we have reached the place. 

"I thought that you would come Saturday night, knowing that I had this thing. To finish what we have started." What logic! We exchange a glance, grinning. "It's really a silly idea, isn't it? I even can't even explain it." 

I reach over, running my hand through the thick, spiky hair like I would do with a child. But it feels different, sending prickles down my spine, not enough for me to become aroused, but enough to accelerate my heart-beat. The best word to call this feeling is infatuation. It's such a wonderful sensation, that I want it to continue. 

"You can still keep it, maybe I will miss it later." He answers with a grin, trying vainly to catch my hand. "However, I will go now, to see Mister Gelbstein." 

*

Half an hour later I leave the store very satisfied. I'm engaged by Mister Gelbstein and would begin my job in two days, even if Karen should not have recovered. It would not be the first time that I had two jobs at the same time. Now, I would have a little income to live on my own until I could find a dance engagement. Having a real job always lifts my mind, because I hate to depend on others and to abuse their generosity.

I don't know if it is the result of my good humor, or just a temporary lack of prudence, but I'm so delighted by what I see, before I reach the car. I stop to preserve this picture. Sam has bought a bag of potato chips and is eating it, leaning his arms on the car roof. He is grinning at nothing special, moving his hips as if he was listening to music. Music in his head. His back is yelling "BAD" to the whole world, but he looks just sweet. I want to touch his face, the appetizing skin, his inviting lips and that spiky hair that felt so nice in my hand. Yes, he looks sweet, and damned sexy too, moving his hips like that. 

"What are you looking at?"

He turns his face to me, his smirk almost going from ear to ear. For I do not know how many times my gaze has wandered between the firm line of his shoulders and his delectable ass. In pure and simple admiration. Feeling a slightly growing pressure in my pants.

"Nothing special." I answer, smiling back to him. "What do you think about another coffee, when you have finished your snack."

"Sounds good to me." He returns, chewing.

*

"Paying protection money for a bookstore?" Sam is asking when we are sitting at an outdoor table of a little café near Washington Square, basking in the sweet sun of May, smelling springtime even in the middle of the city. I was just telling him why Mister Gelbstein was looking for a courageous employee.

"Yes, that is what he said." I answer Sam's startled question. "His problem was that most of his former employees did not want to keep that job. It seems to be the Italians, and they have a reputation of being very dangerous."

"I can understand it, but – who would ask a bookstore for protection money? I know that most of the bars pay it, but a bookstore?"

Suddenly, I think of the barkeeper of the "Velvet" who appeared in Karen's club, every night, some minutes before it closed. For a moment, I struggle against the impulse to speak with Sam about it. But, then I keep my mouth shut again. After all, I don't know very much about him. Not enough to trust him.

" Mister Gelbstein said that all the storekeepers he knows pay it," I answer instead. "but he wouldn't. He said, that he had not fled one oppression to give up to another." 

"Amazing that such a frail old man is this courageous." Sam says thoughtfully.

Smiling, I remember how surprised Mister Gelbstein was to see me. Or rather, he didn't really see me at first because he had his glasses pushed to his forehead to read the paper. And he must be even more shortsighted than before. Though, when he saw me finally, he was surprised, but then he smiled in his usual friendly manner and called me "the little Kenneth". Although, at the beginning, he was not so inclined to the idea that I might work for him. I think he believed that he could have even more problems, employing a man who looks as if he used to stray in Washington Square Park. But, in the end, I could convince him, that contrary to my appearance I had no fear at all of dealing with his problem.

"Oh, courage is not a question of strength." I explain, thinking of Kumiko.

"Like your aunt," Sam returns, and my jaw drops. "I don't know her very well, but Kay is highly amazed by her. Did she really study Law on her own, just with books and written lectures? I don't understand how someone could have patience for a thing like studies."

"She is a hard worker. She did it, even if she wasn't sure if she would find a job, as a woman and as an Asian. She just wanted to do it, because she was amazed by the idea of a real and democratic legal system. She always said that all the injustice was not a problem of the Law but of its interpretation. And that she wanted to fight until the first phrase in the Constitution becomes a reality for all people." While I am speaking, I see Kumiko before my eyes. How she was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by books and papers while I was lying on the mattress in the bedroom, observing her through the half closed door. I always fell asleep before she went to bed, even if I very often tried to stay awake. "I never knew a person with so much energy and discipline." 

"You are very fond to her, aren't you?" Sam is looking at me. The tone of his voice has changed. I don't answer, lowering my gaze. "Maggie told me that you have lived with her all your life."

"Indeed, she managed to flee with me from Japan. After my parents had been killed, and because she had to fear arrest too."

"What for?"

I hesitate, but then I shrug and tell him what I know. "For treason. Well, my father was suspected to be a spy for the Americans. That's what they said to explain his death to the American authorities in Japan. He worked in Yokohama for an American Trade Company. I don't know, neither does Kumiko, if the suspicion was true. Perhaps, it was just his connection with people like my mother and Kumiko that made him suspicious in the eyes of the Tokko." Sam opens his mouth again, and I realize that I speak about things he couldn't know. "The Tokko were the secret police and suppressed subversive ideas. They observed the foreigners as well as so-called subversive Japanese. My mother was part of a pacifist group, and she secretly distributed leaflets for them. Kumiko helped her when she came to visit her. That's it. The Tokko found it out, my parents were arrested, and sentenced to death. That's what Kumiko told me, and later I found out that it was true."

I feel very odd, speaking about them, about their death. As if it is just a story of interesting, but completely unknown persons. In the end, my parents are strangers to me, persons I know from photos, a few letters and other people's accounts. I owe them my physical appearance. Besides that? Who knows? 

"Sounds like a fucking movie." Sam comments somewhat impressed. "And she escaped with you. On a ship, or what?" 

"On a ship." She never ever told me about the escape. It must have been horrible, and she was just lucky that I survived it. "I was one year old, she was fifteen years old. At first we lived in San Francisco, without papers, but later we left the city and went to the Midwest where the family of my father lived. It was a poor region, peopled by farmers. That's why my father left it, but it was a good place to stay during the war. They knew about the war, of course, but they let us stay nevertheless. It was a kind of underground. Better than a relocation camp, I think. After this –"

"What relocation camp?" Sam interrupts me. 

"The camps where they put people with Japanese origins. During the war."

Now, it's him who is startled. "Really?"

"Yes, and one of them wasn't too far away from the place where Kumiko and I stayed." How could so many people ignore what had been cruel reality for their own compatriots? "When we lived here in the Village, there was an American-Japanese family. The elder children, Sozaru and Yumi, were my best friends. Their father had fought and died in the war, while the rest of the family was interned in a relocation camp on Ellis Island. Contrary to them, I was very lucky." It's out faster than I thought. Very strange. I hadn't thought of Soza for years, because it made me too sad. And it still causes the same melancholy. Thinking what kind of person he could have been, or what could have been between us, if he had not died in this stupid incident. "That's enough chatting about me. What's about you? How did you know Kumiko?" 

"Wow!" Sam exclaims. Then he remains silent for a few minutes. "As I said I don't know her too much. It's Kay who knows her better. She helped him in a problematic situation. If you want to know details, you have to ask him. He simply told me, that it was one of his luckiest days when he went to this agency. Even before he started to explain his situation, she helped him to get his wits together, inviting him for a tea. But what a tea – it was a real ceremony." I get the picture. One of the rare things Kumiko kept of her Japanese education was the tea ceremony. She had explained to me that it created harmony and left the time to think about the words before pronouncing them. It was a good recipe, but the tea ceremony doesn't resolve all problems. I shake my head, to push away my sad thoughts, while Sam is continuing: "After this, Kay went to her whenever he needed advice, especially about legal problems. There he met Arthur who came for some advice, too. I was very surprised to discover that they knew each other, when I came to New York." After the last words, he, suddenly, stops, looking down on his dishes. 

"Where did you come from?"

"From New Orleans, but my – parents live in Charleston." 

No doubt, he doesn't like to speak about his parents. I don't insist. After all, coming out is always a painful process, and very often, the wounds don't heal easily. 

"And the others?" 

"Kay is a very old acquaintance." Almost unconsciously, his lips curl in a smirk. "I know him from the orphanage where I spent my first seven years, before I was adopted. It was in Oklahoma City. And Arthur comes from Philadelphia, from a Quaker family. That's what all the Shermans are." 

His short comment only confirms my impression. His coming out has been painful enough that he still feels hurt.

"And the band, how long have you played together?" 

This might be an easier topic, I think.

"Almost since my arrival in New York. Three years. First, I only knew how to play the saxophone, but Arthur taught me to play the guitar." He stops, an odd expression showing up in his eyes. Though, it doesn't take much time, before his familiar mischief returns. "Hey, do you want to see our place? You will be impressed."

"Yes." I answer, faking naiveté.

His eyes widen, the smile growing more wicked. Does he think I would not know what he intends? After all. Why not? 

*

It's an old warehouse, where the ground floor is occupied by stores. The windows of all the other floors, as far as they are visible from the street, are barred with wooden planks, or painted in gaudy colors. We have to go to the backside of the house to find the entry. A dusty stairway behind the stores and a wooden elevator leads to the other floors. We take the elevator. The first thing surprising me, is the large banner at the entry to the fourth floor, announcing in flashily colored letters "Underground". The second thing surprising me, is the truth of it. The whole thing is a kind of cave. The barred and painted windows dim the light. Only in the part of the room where the instruments are standing, a sort of stage, the windows allow the daylight to enter. Armchairs and couches and low tables are displayed in free arrangements, creating compartments, little caves in the grand cave. Six iron girders supporting the ceiling intensify this impression. The walls are decorated with different posters, reminding me of my joke about avant-garde artists.

"What do you think about it? It's quite cool." 

"Looks like the entrance of a brothel." I comment dryly. 

Sam grins. "You should see it at night. Then it looks like a fucking love paradise." He shows me the bar, occupying a corner beside the music rostrum. "If you want something, serve yourself. I would invite you to come upstairs to see the other rooms, but it's not decent at all." I bite my lips, for not laughing at his comment about decency. "I'll be back in ten or twenty minutes."

"No problem!" 

I risk a look into the bar shelves and fridge, offering a very great diversity of more or less alcoholic liquids. I wonder if they have a liquor license, or if they had found a way to circumvent the legal requirements. I look at the collection for a few minutes and, finally, I find orange juice. After having filled a glass, I drink a bit, walk through the cavernous room, until I feel a certain physical need and look for the lavatories. 

*

I should not have looked in that corner. A half hidden and half open cardboard box in other peoples lavatory is not my business. Curiosity killed the cat. Someday, I may learn that, but not now, because there it is ... Shit! In a very real sense of meaning. Crouching down, I pull the cardboard box completely out of its hiding place. It contains three packets filled with white powder. Whatever it might be, it is definitively hard stuff. I settle myself on the closed toilet seat, because I feel the sudden need to sit down. 

I have never seen this much, not before the night in the "Velvet". On that night, nothing offered me a real distraction from my thoughts about the drug deal in that lavatory. And, this had been the real reason for me to stay, not just favors for Sam, or Maggie. Trying to find out the secrets of the theatre was the least I could do. Of course, the others didn't leave me the key when they closed. I was a stranger to them, and one of them, or both had a lot of things to hide. I picked up the key, in a moment when none of them were watching, and returned when they had were gone. 

I found Arthur there, in the technical room, and I think I saved his life. He was in a kind of shock, shaking and struggling for breath as if he was drowning. Although I was horrified, I did not panic in that moment. Even as he talked with me. Like the living dead in a gothic novel who suddenly starts to speak. He called me his guardian angel, a creature of heaven and more things which only gave me a bad chill. First, I thought about calling an ambulance, but I didn't do it. I was almost sure that they would inform the police, and the police would find a reason to put me in jail. A fag in the company of a junkie would have been a perfect target for deliberate mistreatment and a perfect suspect. 

No, I did not call the ambulance, but looked for a medicine cabinet. And there I found enough uppers to wake up the dead. It helped to stop the shock before it became too dangerous, and after a while he fell asleep, his pulse regaining a normal rhythm. Only then, sure that his condition was stable, I examined what he had taken. It has been a mix of LSD and Cocaine, and I wasn't really surprised to find a large amount and variety of drugs in an adjacent room. I was not surprised, but furious. There are not many people I hate, but I really, really despise drug dealers. 

It's good to remember my fury, better than feeling shitty, sitting on the toilet seat and looking at the three packets. I stand up, open the toilet and do the same thing I did with the shit I found in the "Velvet", taking my knife out of my pocket, slashing open the packets and throwing their contents down in the water. Splash! Flush! It's gone, before I can change my mind. Then I lay the empty packs back in the cardboard box and put it back in its hiding place. I'm still shaking when I wash my hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. 

I think that I should really talk with Sam about this now. In the "Velvet", I wasn't sure at all if I could trust him, him being a stranger to me. Though it was nice to have him as a distraction with his behavior and his sex-appeal. After the time we have spent together, I don't believe that he is addicted to any drugs, besides alcohol. But, I'm not certain of what he knows about the different packets. Since the cardboard box hadn't been exceptionally hidden, and he lives in this house. 

I return to my glass of orange juice, looking vainly in the pockets of my jacket and my jeans. You will not find any tobacco, you left it home, forget about it! Finally, I take off my jacket and lay it over a chair. Lifting my mood with the question if taking off my jacket is a sign of my mental condition, anticipating taking off more. 

"Got you!" 

Before I notice anything, I'm hugged from behind, teasing teeth tugging my earlobe. I open my mouth to protest, to say what needs to be said, but the only sound escaping my throat is a breathless gasp when the tongue between these teasing teeth follows the line of my ear. Later, I think, when it wanders lower to my jaw, hands clutching my shirt above my stomach and running eagerly over my legs. Later, I think, when a hungry mouth is devouring my neck, tongue playing with my chain, pressing it against my skin. Later, I think, every reasonable thought flying away, when I feel the needy pressure against my back and shaking fingers opening the lower buttons of my shirt. I dig my own fingers in his arms, hissing when his warm hand slides beneath the fabric, touching my feverish skin. Hunger like I haven't felt it for so many years, far greedier than the other night, is washing over me. I spin around, grip his neck and push against him. Our lips meet halfway, meshing wildly. 

Some minutes later, we stumble blindly over one of the couches. Sam toppling me, continuing the kiss, almost ripping off my shirt, when he needs too much effort to open the buttons. Then he stops, breaking the kiss and lifting his head to look at what he has touched.

"Not now!" I let out, my voice husky and impatient. I push the ring and the dragon hanging on the chain away from his questioning eyes, reaching out for his neck and drawing him back into the kiss. Not now! I don't want the past phantoms to interfere, not when I need so much to be touched by a real human being. Covering his mouth, his chin and his neck with hungry kisses – the taste is so overwhelming, intoxicating, real and physical – I shred his shirt over his back. I'm almost crying out when his mouth returns to my neck. Holding him tight with my arms, relishing the sensation of his taut muscles under my fingers, I shift my position until we are sitting, myself settled in his lap, my legs straddling his sides. 

Even if he might be somewhat irritated with my sudden action, he realizes very fast the advantages of this position, stripping my shirt completely, running his hands over my back, up to bury them in my hair and down to squeeze my buttocks as hard as he had done it the other night. My head falls back while I'm feeling him pressed against me. When I augment this torturous delight with slow moves of my hips, I provoke a violent gasp from him, his touches grow needier. The muscles in my legs quiver, as I'm pressing my feet in the upholstery, searching for support. His right hand sneaks between our tightly pressed bodies, caressing me, where I feel this madly throbbing, and I cry out. I don't remember having been so sensitive, reacting to soft touches with such passion. ... My skin is like a sponge for his kisses and the insistent touches of his hands, absorbing their heat and converting it to more feverish need and aching excitement. Please! I want this to continue endlessly; I'm yearning for release. And he is so talented with his mouth, tongue and teeth, finds highly sensitive places, that he inspires my lust-hazed mind the breathtaking vision of – 

"No!" I shout desperately, when I feel a long missed sensation running down my spine. My fingers dig into his back savagely, as if searching for help. "Oh my god!" Screaming again, I fight it down. 

"That's it," Sam tries to laugh, but he is breathing hard, and he is trembling. "finally you know how to address me properly." 

I taste the salt on his skin when I manage to kiss his neck, biting him for mocking me. After this, he is struggling for control too. Finally, he reaches for my belt and opens it. Then he continues with my pants, the hand in my back creeping lower, sliding beneath the fabric. My whole body shakes in anticipation, sweat dripping over my skin. This, oh yes, I want this so badly. Then –

It's a surprise phantom who interferes, using the piano. Whoever once heard a piano screeching like a hurt animal can imagine the dreadful sounds interrupting our heated battle. The music has the same effect as a cold shower, for both of us, but incites different reactions. 

"Fuck!" Sam yells hoarsely, and he pushes me away roughly. I cover my face with my hands. I'm not sure if I should laugh about this moment fitting for a screwball comedy, or if I should wish for a hole to disappear completely. My cheeks are still burning, but its the shame now. "Fuck! Fucking bastard!" 

Spilling out more obscenities – some of them make me even blush – Sam rises up. The piano grows just noisier and more dissonant, slowly getting on my nerves. I close my pants and put on my shirt, standing up too. When I see what happens, I decide that laughing is the only solution to save face. Without success, Sam is trying to drag Arthur away from the piano, constantly yelling at him. 

When I laugh, they stop their strange fight and look at me. I don't know what I had expected from Arthur when he sees me but I find just an expression of utter serenity on his face. Not a smile, but a sort of preliminary start of a smile. And the music changes into something completely different. It must be easier, without Sam trying to trap his hands in the piano-top. 

"What are you laughing at?" Sam is asking angrily, his face is bright red. 

"Don't be so ridiculous!" I say, pulling him away from Arthur. "Will you drive me home, or do I have to take the subway? You have two minutes to decide and to get changed." 

Sam decides quickly and leaves. Arthur continues playing his new tune, two different motives in twisted, choppy melodies. For the last few days, I was so troubled by the idea of meeting him. But now, I feel colder than I thought I would. He gazes at me with widened eyes, pure adoration mixed with indulgence. If I hadn't seen almost the same expression when I found him in that little room, maybe I would have been happy to see a man looking at me like this. Maybe, he could seduce me with his music. Maybe, I wouldn't give Sam a second thought. But now, I know the truth about him, and I have found the drugs in the toilet. He might be a victim of his own misery, but this is no excuse.

"Do you know?" He starts to speak. "That he just wants sex from you, a quick moment of heat."

"What is the problem with that?" I reply. All my experiences told me that it always amounts to this quick moment of heat. Sam is only extremely blunt in this matter. 

"And the moment he gets it, he will not look at you a second time." 

"Why do you care about it?"

I see my beret lying on the floor and pick it up. I clap the dust off and put it on my hair. Of course, my hair must be a mess, but I can arrange it when I'm home. 

"You deserve better. He would never know how to treat you properly."

"But you think you know."

"Yes," He is very near to a smile now, nodding. "I know that you are one of these precious beings who are like lights for the people around them. An angel."

An angel? Oh no! Being an object of adoration might appear more agreeable than being an object of pure sexual desire, but in the end, it's just the same, and I dislike them both. For a very simple reason. The object part. And being the object of adoration of a drug-hazed mind is the last thing I want.

"Don't you think that you grow a bit pathetic?" I return coldly, and I don't even have to fake it. 

"No, it's just the truth. I can see it when I look at you, this light."

"You should stop to taking things which influence your perception."

It's a stupid discussion. Caustic remarks are just a waste. He is so high on LSD at this moment, that he doesn't really understand any of my words. His answer: "You should use it too, because it shows you how things really are. It gave me back music when I thought I had lost it." just proves my thoughts. I stop caring about him, it's useless now. A drug-filled mind is no place for reasonable thoughts. 

I take my jacket and leave the room, running down the stairway. It's only when I'm standing by the car that I realize that I haven't been calm at all. Self-deception is one of my greatest abilities, but now, leaning against the car, I'm shaking like a leaf. My control is just strong enough, that I don't vomit on the street. So many years, and I still wish I would never ever have to deal with my special knowledge in such situations. I wish I could despise this man, but instead I feel sorrow. 

*

"Fucking bastard!" Sam is still cursing, when we are on the road again, and slowly, it starts to annoy me. After all, it's not the end of the world. "This incredible –"

"What's your problem, Sam?"

"How can you ask? It was humiliating, but not only that. I was so close, for fuck's sake, for three weeks I haven't had any sex."

"That's really tragic, Sam." 

We live in two different worlds. This poor boy almost dies from excess pressure after only three weeks of sexual abstinence. After my words, he glances suspiciously at me. 

"Are you teasing me?"

"I would never do that."

"You are. I thought you liked it, you have been really hot. But maybe you prefer someone more sophisticated and more artistic than me, who sweet talks before screwing you." 

"Don't dare speak to me like this!" I return sharply. "Pull over!"

"Okay, I'm sorry." His voice expresses the truth of it even better than the words themselves. 

I bite my bottom lip, suddenly amused that I can intimidate him so easily. 

"I accept your apology, but pull over anyway. We have to talk about something, and I don't want to do it in the middle of the New York rush hour." 

"Do you want to ask me about Arthur? If I had realized that he was high?" Sam queries, but he searches to find a place to stop. "Of course, I know it. I'd have to be blind not to know it. What do you think is the problem I have with him? Every time, before and after a concert, during the days and in the nights, he blows his head away with this stuff. You can't even really fight with him when he is like this. You have seen it." 

"Is that what you meant with his search for inspiration?" He glances at me, as if I have said something stupid. "You said it, when we were in the theatre, explaining what Arthur does after his shift." 

He stops the car, turning his face to me, shrugging. 

"That's what he says. That taking it helps him to find new music. In the beginning, I believed it, because I noticed that he was more candid, looked happier when he was high. Though, after a while, I realized that his drug use was just a substitute for a real life, not only concerning sex, but concerning all feelings and sensations. And now, he just pisses me off, but I can't do anything. When he isn't high, he's just gloomy and quiet, reading books, disdaining everything I do."

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Shit! Why do I have to feel this sorrow? Finally, I find my voice. "Why don't you try to help him? To get clean?" 

"I'm not fucking Jesus Christ, who saves the poor sheep." 

"That's not what I was asking you. I asked you why you don't help him to get clean."

"Why?" I open my eyes at the coldness in his voice. "Why should I help him? He doesn't want to be saved, he told me with his own voice not to spy after him and not to annoy him. Why should I make myself suffer for him? After all he is just a stupid bastard who has afraid to live, or to have fun." 

"But he is your cousin."

"So what? He doesn't want my help, or anyone's. If not he would be with this girl now, because she loves him. And she is a real person. If he wanted anyone's help, he would accept this love. No matter if the girl is black or white." They must have discussed about Mimi. "But I don't love him this much. Why should I suffer for someone who doesn't want to be saved."

"And what will you think the day he kills himself with this?" 

"It would just be the death he chooses. So many people who have died would deserve life more than him. People who loved life enough for not to be afraid all time." 

We have started shouting, but suddenly, I see this expression in his eyes. His own sorrow he has hidden so deeply, and I think about the people I have known. People who died, but deserved life so much. 

"I'm sorry." I say, and his wide eyes betray his amazement. "It's unfair to demand things from you that might hurt you. Besides, you should know that someone – maybe Arthur, maybe another person – has hidden drugs – I don't know what kind in your bathroom." 

He shrugs. "Yes, I know."

"What?" The moment of sympathy is gone. I'm at the edge of fury.

"I told you that he doesn't want to be saved. But this isn't my business. This is Arthur's business. I don't give a fuck about it. He told me that dealing LSD isn't illegal, and that anyway, I should keep my mouth shut about morals. If I informed the police about it, he would inform the police about the places where I go sometimes. Do you understand why I don't wish to save him?" I'm choking, my fury flying away quickly. That's it, he is right. Arthur must already be so deeply involved in this shitty business, that helping him becomes really painful. I don't even say that the stuff I found was certainly something worse than LSD. "He gets this stuff from a guy called Thomas Kane, who sometimes shows up on Saturday. I avoid this man. He is gay, or bi – I don't know, but I don't like the looks he gives me."

"Then you should appreciate that I have flushed a considerable part of his money down the toilet." I say dryly. 

Sam's eyes widen even more, then he starts to laugh. "Why did I never get that idea?" 

"You have said it. You don't care about it. I do." My voice is somewhat sharp, but I'm not in the mood to be polite. "You know about the 'Velvet' too?"

His laughter is trapped in his throat. "What's with the 'Velvet'?"

I look at him very long, before I decide that he really doesn't know about the drugs in the "Velvet". Then I tell him everything that happened, from the deal I heard in the lavatory to Arthur's shock, and finally, I'm glad to do it. 

"The 'Velvet' is partially owned by an organization, called the 'Family'. It's a bit like the Mafia, but its members are not limited on Italians." Sam explains, when I have finished. "Simon has made the contacts. That's all that I know. I can't imagine that someone could do anything without their knowledge. Kane is a freelancer, as far as I know." Then, he grins catlike, while I'm thinking, Shit, I could have provoked a gang war with my action. "I don't know why you do such risky things, but I have to admit that I'm highly amazed by your recklessness. Do you want to fight off all the drug dealers in this city? If so, please, let me know, because I'm sure it guarantees lots of fun." 

Sighing and laughing at the same moment, I cover my face with my hands. A magnet for trouble, that's what I am, falling in a man who considers trouble as an amusing entertainment. There is no need to continue this discussion. "Let's go!" 

Sam smacks my shoulder, before he tries to filter back into the flow of traffic. 

"Let's go out again tomorrow!" He says after a while. "Your job starts on Thursday. We could even go to a movie, in the evening. I go to the movie theatre every Wednesday."

My first idea is to accept his invitation, but then I remember that I have to visit Karen. I promised her, before I left them on Sunday. Thinking of Karen, I remember the job and another thing.

"You said, the barkeeper of the 'Velvet' has made the contacts. I saw him at Karen's Jazz Club, the last few days. Do you mean -?"

"Yes, as I said most of the bars pay protection money. This organization is like a net. Their chief is called the 'spider', but nobody I know has ever seen him." Sam is shrugging. I would love to have his indifference, but my thoughts have already started to hunt each other like mad rats. "You haven't answered my suggestion."

I take another deep breath. "I would like to go out again, but tomorrow I have to visit Karen Kaszowiz."

"This noisy girl."

"Don't talk like that. She is very fine and courageous."

"If you say so. When shall I come to take you?"

This time, I'm really sighing. "Do you really want to spend another day on the road?" 

He laughs. "Don't forget the fun, and the surprises!" Yes, this is something I could get used to. "Besides, we still have unfinished business." 

Sam's hand is sliding from the clutch to my thigh, but I catch it and lay it back on the steering wheel before its creeping becomes too dangerous. I haven't forgotten what Arthur said about the quick moment of heat. 

"Do not let us rush into things!" 

I'm feeling a bit ridiculous, saying this. Just on hour before, I had been really hot, but now, I think that Arthur might have done me a favor. Sam considers my words definitively ridiculous, bursting out in mocking laughter, while he is parking the car in front of the house.

"Rush? I don't see us rushing into anything." 

It's really a world between us, but it doesn't change my opinion. I know for sure, that if I had sex with someone, it should be a little bit more than just a casual fuck. Sure, it might be a great moment, but later I would feel like shit. I know it, I've had enough fucks of this kind. Enough to feel unclean and dirty – until now. I leave the car without reacting to Sam's laughter. When I have reached his side of the car, he looks somewhat irritated, lowering the window. He might consider himself as the coolest kickass of the world, but I'm convinced now, that he needs this mask to protect himself. After all, he is only twenty-two years old. 

It's pure foolishness and more than imprudent, but I cup his face with my hands, lean forward through the open window and kiss him good-bye. Not a hungry kiss as a function of a foreplay, but a sweet one, to taste his lips. When I break the kiss, we breathe a bit quicker, nevertheless. 

"There'll be another time." I say smiling, steadying my voice a bit, raising my upper body. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow!" 

Then he departs, and I go to the house. I become aware of what I have done, when I notice a shocked face in one of the windows of the first floor. There had been people on the street, I see them now, still looking at me in disgust. Luckily, they are mostly women, they would not try to beat me, and they are too far away to spit at me. In stubborn ignorance, I smile at them brightly. But, when I have entered the house, I'm worried if one of them might have called the police to inform them about my open exhibition of immorality. 

A letter addressed to me that I find in the letter-box interrupts my reflection. It has been posted in New York, and inside I find a postcard of the Liberty Statue. While I'm climbing to the second floor, I read the message. It's written in German, saying: _Greetings from Berlin, Venus! Saw you at the airport, but you have gotten quite blind. Still owe you a favor, and don't like to have any debts. If you need some help, call under this number, or find me at the "Waldorf Astoria"._ Followed by a room number.

Of course! Only the best is good enough for him. I don't even need to see the initials _H. v. S._ to know the writer of this letter. There is only one man who always called me "Venus", no matter what I said or if I complained. If he is in New York, something must be up, something big, something in which I don't want to be involved. My first impulse is to throw the letter in the garbage, but then – No, for annoying me endlessly, I should keep him as my debtor. Just for my own satisfaction! 

I hide the letter under the false bottom of one of my suitcases. Then I go into the bathroom to arrange my hair, blushing when I see my reflection. My neck is covered with love bites, quickly I search for a shawl to cover them and change my shirt, before I start to make dinner. 

*

I wish I could cry. I wish I hadn't shed all my tears for other people. Every new pain only creates this strange knot in my throat, strangling me, making my eyes burn, but offering no release. I blow the smoke in the evening air, leaning against the railing by the river. The Hudson is converted into flowing flames, and golden fingers reach out for the familiar skyline. The view from Brooklyn Heights is definitively better than any view from a building in the middle of that chaotic Island. But I never felt at home in Brooklyn. From the moment we moved over to Brooklyn, my life was already disintegrating. 

There had only been one other day in my life when Kumiko had been this cold. The day when she knew that I hadn't gone to the new school for two months, and that the school branded me as a trouble maker. 

Today, she had been informed by the neighbors about my behavior, even before she came in the apartment. The neighbors who swayed between pure horror and pity that she was punished with someone sick and disgusting like me, in the short time, one of them had written a letter and collected signatures, begging her to take care that such immorality would not be displayed again. After all, they were good Christians, and good Americans. 

I said I was sorry, but she only replied that I should not lie to her. If I was really sorry I would stop to doing things who might hurt my family. 

"Is it not enough that Maggie has suffered for your behavior at school? Even if she wants me to believe that she was always fine, I know what hard time she has had. Is it not enough? Don't you have done enough to yourself?" 

I was sorry, sorry to cause them pain, but she didn't believe me. 

"I will not kick you out in the streets now, but you will leave tomorrow. I will give you some money, if you need it, but after this I demand that you stay away from us. And if you get yourself in trouble again, don't come crawling to me for help."

These were the last words she said to me. 

I wish I could cry, but I can't. I finish my cigarette and go to the subway station. The best remedy against suffering is hard work. That's what I'm used to. 

****

Author's notes: Are you shocked? I hope not too much.

1. The most shocking matter: First, even if drug use is part of this story, I don't promote it. Writing about things doesn't mean automatically to promote them. Second, it's correct that the traffic with LSD was still legal in 1965. Like other drugs it was used for medical treatments. Third, the relationship between music and drugs was not invented by me, and what Arthur does, is a kind of preliminary state of psychedelic music. But: **If you find someone having a cocaine-shock, please, call an ambulance! After all, we don't live in the Sixties anymore, and it's very rare that someone has to fear mistreatment from the police.**

2. Why do I do such terrible things to Aoshi? (He glances at me with icy disdain.) First, I have to admit that I have my problems with Aoshi, for that reason he might be a bit more negative than usually. Second, this is not a story about invincible warriors, so I had to change his motivations. What remains of his character beside the search for "being the strongest"? A rather serious, reflecting man with a tendency to obsessions and the ability to think twisted, a man who has inspired the love and the loyalty of other people, a man who got lost somewhere on his way. That's what I try to keep for Arthur, but contrary to other characters in this story, he is _not_ a spy. Besides, the image will only be completed at the end of the story. 

3. Let's talk about the characters (II)! Mister Gelbstein is Doctor Genzai of course, and I liked that idea that my AU-Kenshin has to protect a bookstore. I think it's karma for destroying a complete library during a fight. Although the name Sozaru is an original character, and I will write more about him in the next chapter. Yumi is Yumi. Marco Sevarelli, Thomas Kane and the mysterious H. v. S. – well, figure it out! 

4. Japanese History. I have found the information about the Tokko in a fascinating book about secret services. I hadn't time to study the Japanese History of the Thirties and Forties in detail. That's the reason why sometimes I take the liberty to apply things I know from the German History to Japan. I would not really compare the national-socialist regime in Germany with the Japanese regime of that time, but both countries had totalitarian systems, suppressing critical opinions. This permits already some conclusions. I will give more information about the pacifist and socialist groups in Japan later.

5. American-Japanese History. Yes, it is true, that, during the Second World War, people with Japanese origins were interned in relocation camps, all over the country. 

In addition to the first version of this chapter, I have a link to a research project dedicated to this matter: http:// www. densho. org (You know the problem with the links on ff.net, sigh.).

Revision: 18-10-2002

Revision: 13-03-2003 


	5. Chapter 5: I Can't Get No Satisfaction

****

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

Warnings for this chapter: language!!!, mention of drug abuse, two, no three kisses, mention of cross-dressing (more or less)

****

Chapter 5: I Can't Get No Satisfaction 

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

It's really strange that you can become so fond of a person in such a short time. Within half a year, I knew that for the first time in my whole life that I had met a man I could trust blindly. A man who was always there to cover my back. A friend. 

****

New York, May 12, 1965

"I don't want to continue this investigation." Jasper Cagney let out his primal wish while they were sitting in the diner. His boss looked at him curiously, a dry smile around his thin lips. "If I continue this, I will go blind. I hate fags. It's disgusting to see them walking in the streets. But seeing them – making out. It's just sick."

"Fine. What did he do, and more important who was with him?" Henry Shatner asked, using the time when the other man paused to take a breath. 

"I've written a report . It's not necessary to talk about it."

"And if I told you that I wanted you for this job exactly for your obvious antipathy. It's rare to find a man who doesn't end up falling under Farrel's charm."

Usually, Henry Shatner didn't flatter anyone. That was the reason why Jasper Cagney felt a bit of pride, even if he wasn't sure if these words were supposed to be a compliment.

"The other man's name is Sam Sherman. He is already registered for minor illegal transgressions. Once he was involved in a car chase. He sings in a Rock 'n' Roll-band and participates regularly in boxing matches in Harlem or the Lower West Side. He frequents one of the clubs on our list. The 'Velvet and Blue-Jean'."

"Do you have a photo?" Jasper Cagney snorted, but took the picture out of his pocket. It showed the two men at a table. While he was looking at it, the smirk of his boss grew more sarcastic. "And what did they do?"

"Kiss," The private eye spat out violently. "on the street. And later in the night the red-head got almost trapped in a raid on West Street, but he escaped. You could have told me that he knows Martial Arts."

"I told you not to take him lightly. Was the other man with him?"

"No, he was alone. He is working in a Jazz Club in the Village, and after it closed he went there. I have written everything in my report.", Jasper Cagney explained. 

"Who is watching him now?"

"One of my men."

"Is he good?" 

Jasper Cagney nodded, although he was rather skeptical. But anything was better than watching the fag any longer. "Alright, et your men keep an eye on Farrel. Just to play it safe. For you, I have another plan. You will have to play a traitor, but this is necessary to get you into this group." 

The blond private eye took a deep breath. Finally, he would have the real, big job. 

***

__

"Imagine your lower abdomen is like a bag." My sudden laughter interrupts his explanations, he's looking at me with slightly strained patience. "Can we continue, Sam?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good, every time when you take a breath you fill the bag. No, don't raise your shoulders, press the air downwards. Yes, like that. You must have the impression that the bag is very full, almost cracking. No, not your face." 

Now, it's him who laughs at my grimace. Then he lays his hand on my back. Oh god, his hand on my back! 

"Don't be so tense, Sam! Lay your own hands on your stomach, and feel the pressure when you breathe." 

The poor innocent man, he hasn't the slightest idea what he does to me. 

"Why all this just for playing saxophone?" I ask to hide my confusion. 

"Knowing how to breathe is essential. Even for singing it will help you."

Singing? I will never sing anymore in my whole life. How could I with this unsteady voice? And I had been so proud of my voice. And my parents too. The angelic voice of little Sam. Making people forget that, normally, they had to yell at me. 

"Come on, try again!" 

I sigh, and ...

The tones coming out of my instrument are clear and steady. It took me a long time, but now it's just natural. Using the midriff for breathing, channeling the air to produce perfect sounds. Even if I had to do half of the work alone. He would be proud of me if he saw me. Does he? Or does he rot in hell, as they say? Fags will rot in hell, that's what they say. What my parents said, only they didn't use this word. They just said "the lost", or "the unrepentant sinners". 

Fuck! The next tones come out with difficulty, but – No, no one will see me cry. Not even a fucking saxophone. 

*

I didn't hear them before they stormed into the room. I had been so absorbed in my daily ritual, my holy sacrifice, playing music and remembering. That's the reason why I'm not fast enough to lay down my instrument. A gun touching my temple is faster. Fuck! If my hands were empty, I would have no problem to dealing with this guy. I would even sacrifice the guitar, but never ever the saxophone. It had been _his_. 

"What do you want?" I yell.

"Shut up!" The man with the gun tells me. He feels very tough since he's holding the gun. Fuck again! There are five of them, behind the man at my side, three of them turn over every corner in the "Underground", the others go upstairs. 

A very long time ago, Arthur, Kay and I had spoken about the potential necessity to fight against a potential police force. Not because of the drugs, but because we are violating liquor regulations. But, I'm not sure if Arthur still remembers it, and if he remembers, he might be unable to apply our strategy in the actual situation. No to mention our sleeping guest, one of Arthur's strange friends, who has been knocked out since yesterday evening. I don't even want to know what he uses.

"Come on, tell me what you're looking for, guys?" I ask the man watching me, having an idea what they are searching for. But they won't even find the empty cardboard box that I threw in the trashcan, when I came back yesterday. 

"You are grinning as if you know something." The guy with the gun says, reaching for my saxophone.

"Don't touch it!"

And suddenly, the tide turns. The men who had gone upstairs come stumbling back, one of them with a bleeding nose.

"Out of here!" Arthur shouts, following them. He is completely sober, holding the long stick of our broom in his hands, looking like a gloomy version of Errol Flynn himself. 

I use the surprise of our intruders, to lay down my saxophone, before I put the guy with the gun to sleep with one of my best blows. Taking the gun out of his lifeless hands, I throw myself on the next. 

"Great! That's what I needed." Very quickly, all but those who are unconscious have made a run for it. I'm heady with adrenaline, gripping the shirt of the remaining guy. "Remember: Never disturb me again when I'm playing my saxophone. It pisses me off." I slap his face gently. "Now, tell me who are you?" 

"I'm nobody." The other is gone wobbly now. What a coward! "They simply asked us to look for drugs. They told us that you had taken some of their stuff."

"Who?" This time Arthur asks the guy. 

"I don't know. His name's Reynolds."

"Brian? Brian Reynolds?" 

Arthur and me, we are both stunned, and the guy uses this time to escape. Brian? I thought, that it had to be Simon. But, maybe, this affair is more complicated than I thought. Shrugging, I pick up my saxophone to lay it properly in its case. 

"Where is it?" Arthur is standing in the door of the lavatory. "They didn't find it, it should be here."

"My lovely red-haired dream-dancer, he threw it in the toilet."

"That's a lie." 

"No!"

"He isn't _yours_", I can't help but laugh in his face, it's such a serious expression. "And he must have been here to do what you have said."

"He was. Yesterday. You can be sure he isn't very pleased, that you are on drugs. You have disappointed him." 

Yes, yes, I'm an asshole to tell him that. But I'm still mad at him for interrupting my fun with Shin-chan, and I don't want him to have the chance to do that a second time. And I don't want Shin-chan to worry about Arthur. It hurts all the fun we could have.

Suddenly, the phone is ringing. The phone had been one part of our anti-police-raid-preparations. 

"Sherman." Arthur has been faster than me. I can't read the expressions of his features, but his voice betrays him. When someone speaks with the person he is attracted to, his voice grows softer and lower. Even Arthur's. "Unfortunately, I haven't time at the moment, because I have an very urgent errand. ... Yes, he has told me, but ... I'm sorry, if I have offended you. ... Thank you. Would you -? ... Yes, he is here too. ... Yes, I will lend him my car, I don't need it for my errand. ... No need to thank me! ... Can I do something for you? Okay!" Arthur turns to me without letting me see in his eyes. "It's Farrel. He wants to speak with you." Before he gives me the receiver, he covers it with his hand. "If you treat him like your other conquests I will kill you."

"You are pathetic." I respond, pissed off. Arthur has never understood and never believed me that all my affairs were based on a simple agreement between the other guy and me: _I want it, you want it, let's have fun_. No complications, no twists, and surely not abuse. I take the receiver from his hands. 

"Hi, it's Sam. Do you already miss me?" 

Now, Arthur gives me a murderous look, before he leaves me. 

"Can you come and get me? Now."

Something is wrong, not only because he ignores my greeting, but I hear tension in his voice.

"If you don't have time, I will call a taxi."

"No, no. I will co-" 

"Beep, beep, beep." The line is dead. What the fuck was that? 

*

When I arrive at the house, he is already waiting for me, sitting on the stairs at the entrance and smoking a cigarette. Forgetting my anger immediately, I grin when I see that he is wearing a dark-blue scarf, covering his neck. I marked him, and, yesterday, it was very funny to see, that he hadn't had any idea. Now, he knows, but the blue scarf suits him. Dark-blue is the nicest color for him anyway. The excitement which hadn't left me since yesterday evening returns with sudden violence. But what else could I do, when even the skin of my hands still feels the sensation of his small, but strong body, the play of firm muscles under the pale skin. 

Shintaro stands up, when I stop the car. I ask myself, if he would kiss me again. Sweet and reckless, in the eyes of the world. At that moment I see his face and his eyes, and I know that he's not thinking about kissing. He doesn't even fake a smile, projecting the rest of his cigarette in the bushes in front of the house. Then I see the suitcases. A very big suitcase and a medium sized suitcase. Shintaro opens the backdoor of the car and puts all the stuff on the backseat.

"Hi!" I say, when, finally, he settles himself on the passenger seat. He doesn't answer, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. His face is blank, not displaying any emotion besides weariness. But his fisted hands, the strain of his posture and the thin line of his lips are visible signs of his inner tension. His whole body is saying "keep your distance". Not the gloominess I'm used to with Arthur, but the behavior of a stranger caught up in worry. The-not-your-business-posture. 

"What's the matter with you?" I query, punching his upper arm lightly. The only reaction I get from him is harsh, unsteady breaths, as if he is struggling for air. "You should stop smoking! You already have problems with your breathing."

This time he opens his eyes, but doesn't look at me. 

"Would you please shut up your mouth and start the car!"

Fuck yourself! Honestly, he is the only person I know who can insult someone with a polite request, but I'm not in the mood for this. If I wanted someone to annoy me, I could stay at home and talk with Arthur. Pissed off, I leave the car to go to his side, and I open the door.

"I'm not your fucking taxi driver. If you want to pout, do it alone. Out of the car!" 

That's what he does without looking at me. My anger grows with every second, and I put my fists in my pockets, while he is pulling the suitcases out of the car. Having set them on the ground, he crosses the street, fumbling in the pockets of his jacket. When he reaches the railing by the river, I see him rolling a new cigarette. But he doesn't smoke it. He throws it into the river, and the tobacco packet follows. 

"Fuck!" It appears as if I will end up playing the fucking good Samaritan again. "Fucking bitch!" I hiss, but he cannot hear me anyway. Then I put the suitcases back in the car. "Freaking bitch!" Shintaro has laid his head on his crossed arms, resting on the railing. I see it when I risk another look. Fine, now he is crying. How touching! How could I forget that guys like him could be more annoying than any noisy girl, playing the fucking little diva. "Bitch!" I spit again, but I go to him anyway. If I wouldn't get this ass today, I would let it drop, but I could try it one last time. By giving him manly comfort. And suddenly, I realize that the balance that was off since yesterday has returned to its right order, my position is clear again. I'm the man and he's – the femme.

That's what I thought, before I reached him. Even though I promised myself that I would never ever be fooled again into believing that I know this man. That I could judge, or foresee any of his reactions. 

"I thought you were gone." He says lifting his head. Although his voice still sounds unsteady and his features are twisted in pain, he isn't crying. "I'm sorry that I was so childish. But I thought, when I opened my mouth I would break down. Starting to cry like a baby. Making you think I was a stupid idiot, but in the end I acted like an idiot anyway. Sorry!"

"Will you tell me what happened?" Once again, he makes me do things I never thought about. I don't even understand why. Perhaps it's his conviction that, in reality, I'm a nice guy. This is not true, but sometimes it feels good to believe it. "Did she kick you out?"

"Yes," He turns to face me. "she asked me to leave, and late last night, I was trapped in a police raid. I escaped, but – " He closes his eyes. "It was a bad night, and I haven't slept for a second." 

It's more jealousy than worry that I feel. Where did he go that he was trapped by the police? 

"Don't tell me that you were looking for someone to -?"

Before I finish my question, I see the hint of a smirk around his lips. A little glance of amusement behind his obvious sadness. Then Shintaro opens his eyes again, shaking his head. 

"Why should I search for someone for that purpose, if I have you?" The smile grows more definite. "Don't worry!" He takes a long, deep breath. "No, it was just coincidence that I was on that corner. I walked a bit to pass the time until the first subway train. I didn't even know that it's a gay area now. It hadn't been when we lived there. I just thought I would feel better wandering through streets I know, but it didn't work." He turns to the river again, looking down at the water. "Even before the police came I knew it was stupid to go there in my troubled state. Everywhere bad memories."

I can understand what he is thinking about. There are some streets in a city called Charleston that I want never to see again for my whole fucking life. I would rather die than make myself suffer because of all the memories they preserve. But sometimes I think about them anyway, although it hurts. Sometimes, the pain is the only sign of life I feel. 

"Let's go!" Shintaro breaks the silence, still looking in the water. "The way will be long enough." He pushes his hands in his pockets, smiling slightly. "Thank you!"

"For what?" 

"For staying. And for reminding me that I should stop smoking." 

When he turns away to go to the car, I hold him back. "Wait a minute!" I'm not sure if I'm not making the biggest error in my life. "Tell me why did she kick you out!" 

"Why do you want to know?" 

"Yesterday you told me almost your whole family story. After all, it doesn't fit that she would cut you off like this."

Turning his face to me, he makes a strange sound. I realize that he is laughing, but not his usual laughter. It sounds terrifying.

"She's not cutting me off. She even offered to give me money, and the last time, I needed it urgently, she gave me more than I needed." I'm sorry I asked. My question stirred up a hornets' nest. And I understand finally what he meant by the break-down he feared. Although he isn't crying, the violence of his emotions is shaking him. "But this doesn't change anything about the fact, that it makes her sick to see me, to know what I am. That she hates that the people in her neighborhood talk about me, pity her. She hates the pity almost as much as the lies. And I have lied to her more than once. I didn't tell her that Soza taught me self-defense, because the other boys tried to beat me bloody and I wanted to prove them, that I was not a coward, and not a fucking queer. And they stopped annoying me, when they knew that I could beat them. Kumiko believes in non-violence, she didn't understand it. I didn't tell her, that all those stupid things I did, should prove the same. That I was not a coward and not a queer, or a girl either. I didn't tell her, that I hated these feelings for Soza, and that I punched him for kissing me. I didn't tell her what I felt when I knew that he had died in a fucking stupid gang fight, because he did the same thing I did. Trying to prove that he was not a coward, and not a queer. I didn't tell her how much I hated the new school, because they wrote _things_ about me in the bathrooms, or on my locker. I didn't tell her how many times I was involved in a fight with other kids, until I didn't go to school anymore. I couldn't speak with her about any of these things, because I hated it, and I didn't understand it. How could I explain it to her?" He is leaning his head on the railing again, shaking and breathless. "Fuck!" 

I'm dumbfounded and helpless, watching this outburst. Unsure what I should do, or feel. I can see inside him the angry, miserable boy who didn't understand himself, hurt and trapped by his feelings. I can imagine it, because I felt the way, and sometimes I still feel that way. Especially when I think about my parents and their pure horror when I told them that, yes, I have kissed a man. Those memories are the reason why, finally, I overcome my irritation, touching his back, soothing the strained muscles with timid caresses. Yes, timidity's the right word, because my heart is pounding. Never before have I touched another man to comfort him; complicated emotions aren't my thing. But, now, it feels just right. The only thing I can do, and after a while I sense him relax, the shaking abating, and his breath calming and steadying. 

"Please don't ever ask me such personal things again." Shintaro says, but his voice doesn't sound as harsh as his words. "It's humiliating to lose face." 

"I'll think about it." 

We go back to the car, silently, until we are sitting in it again. 

Then they words come out of me just naturally: "What do you think about starting over again, as if you just came to the car? We only have to say the same words as yesterday. So your part is to ask: 'What do you want?' Then I say: 'Aren't you happy to see me? I thought you wanted to see me again.'"

It works. He gazes at me with his special smile, hiding very naughty thoughts. 

"Why don't we continue where we ended yesterday?" He proposes still smiling, and my heart pounds faster again. He can't mean what I think? Though, lowering his eyelashes a bit, he says: "After all, it doesn't matter anymore, what people might think." 

He means exactly what I'm thinking, lifting one hand to brush my lips. Yes, please, kiss me again! He does, sweetly and recklessly. I have no idea, what excites me more the sweetness and the growing passion of the kiss, or the fact that we are sitting in a car, in the bright daylight. And his kisses are worth all this extra effort. 

"Hey, you fags! Get out of the car!" Someone is beating on the windshield, and we break apart. I see two policemen beside the car. They have their fucking billy clubs in their hands. Doesn't look good. "Get out of the car!" One of them yells a second time.

Fuck yourselves! I glance at Shintaro who looks somewhat worried. I start the car, not caring that the window beside me is breaking. The only thing what matters is that we can make a run for it. After a while, I can lose them. It's easier than the last time. Besides I know, that the license number isn't really visible as dirty as the car is. Somewhere in the middle of the usual New York traffic, we start to laugh.

"You are incredible." Shintaro says breathlessly. 

"I promised you fun, and look, you are laughing. Besides, I'm getting better at shaking off the men in blue. The last time –"

"You totaled Arthur's car."

"How can you know that? When it happened, I mean."

"Pure intuition." He chuckles again, and I'm relieved at that. Laughter and smiles suit him far better than negative vibes and painful memories. It makes him Shin-chan, someone you can use a pet name for.

"Your intuition is really remarkable. And speaking of intuition, I wanted to tell you that it was good that you informed me yesterday about the 'Velvet'. We had visitors this morning. They thought Arthur had taken the stuff." 

"I thought on the phone that something must have happened." Too much worry in his voice. But, we will not start to talking about Arthur now! "I'm really sorry to cause you trouble. I overreacted yesterday without thinking about the consequences."

"No, no, don't apologize. It was fun to kick them out."

"Sam!" He is worried about me. How cute! "You shouldn't put yourself in danger."

"Hey, hey. We talked about that yesterday, that I'll be your partner when we fight off the bad guys. You can save the world, and I can have fun, just like when you saved the girls, and I had the fun, the other night. It's perfect."

His eyes grow huge, like yesterday when I told him that. I like the idea, very much. It has nothing to do with my intention to have his ass, but I like it anyway. 

"What will you do now?" I ask after a while, making a pointing to the back of the car. 

"I will never live in the same place with someone who deals drugs. That's the only reason." Shintaro responds with deadly seriousness. But, this expression doesn't remain on his face for a long time. "No, I have thought about it. A few days ago, Karen offered me the little apartment, located behind the dance school. I would like it, I could hardly find a nicer place to live for a cheaper price. It even has a real bathroom and a little kitchenette, you know. Not just a sink and a hot plate, on a table."

"But? So many good reasons, but I can almost hear the 'but'."

He rests his elbow on the open window, cupping his cheek in his hand, smiling sadly. The wind is playing with his hair. I have to take a very deep breath, my pants growing definitively too tight.

Finally he says. "No, there is not really a 'but'. I really would like it. But," He laughs a bit about the obvious contradiction. "it bothers me nevertheless. I don't know if I should tell her about me, or not. And how could I tell her without causing too much trouble." 

I open my mouth. How could he? Where did he find the courage to even think about confessing something like that? As much as I like flirting when I know that no one, besides Arthur, might be offended by my sexual orientation, I'm very glad that, in my normal life, I can easily pass as the perfect straight guy. No one calls me a queer or a fag to my face. 

"Do you do this every time you take an apartment or a room?" I express my opinion after a while.

"Certainly not." He shakes his head. "Karen is a special case. I owe her and her family much. Sometimes I consider them almost my own family, and I loved them certainly more than most of my real relatives. I mean, her grand-mother knew about me, because it was so difficult to hide my trouble in front of my teacher. And she tried to help me, they all tried. Even little Karen who didn't know anything about my troubles, felt that she needed to cheer me up. And she did it. The Kaszowiz family gave me shelter for six months, when I was on bad terms with Kumiko. And they arranged the Paris trip for me, when it became clear, that I would never successfully pass any competition, staying in New York. I never had any chance to thank them, and – I think this girl just deserves my sincerity." 

"But?"

He slaps my arm with a lazy, teasing movement. "Idiot! That doesn't make it easy, even more since yesterday. That's all. I'm a coward about this."

"Coward. This is exactly the word, I have in mind. Tell me, coward," He gives me another slap. "did you learn this interesting fighting style of yours at the dance school? I've forgotten to ask you, but I'm highly curious about it."

"No, Soza – Sozaru taught me." I have noticed his lame try to hide the importance of this name. Not to mention that I still remember having heard something about kissing this guy. Just an hour before. But I don't interrupt him. Interesting fighting styles are a hobby of mine. "It was just supposed for self-defense, and to impress the kids harassing me. It's a kind of Asian martial art mixture, and in the end, it is not so far away from dancing. Only the choreography is not music but the fight and the moves of your opponent. Soza learned it in the relocation camp, and later he asked some Chinese to teach him more. Sometimes, we went there together. Not that the Chinese were very fond of two American-Japanese boys, but Soza told them, he just wanted to learn to fight, not to marry one of their sisters. The result of it was a kind of random style. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to show Soza what I learned in Japan."

"When did you have time to go to Japan? Between dance competitions, dance exercises, moving over to Brooklyn, trouble with your aunt, trouble with school, a trip to Paris. Have I forgotten something?"

"You promised not to ask me about my personal life again." 

"The question if I have forgotten something isn't very personal. And I only said I would think about it." 

He doesn't answer. The silence irritates me, because I don't want him to distance himself again. He has been so candid for the last hour, that I'm very reassured concerning my opportunities for later fun. Getting him to talk had such a good result yesterday, that I have considered it as the best strategy I ever had. Besides, I'm indeed amazed by all his stories. At the moment when I open my mouth to make an excuse for my rudeness, he decides to answer.

"In the summer of 52, Kumiko and me, we had obtained American passports and official permission to travel to Japan. It was a very special case, because eldest sister of Kumiko and my mother, their family and their father had lived in Nagasaki, at the time when Kumiko had fled." 

I must be a fool to have insisted. The only thing I know after he finished speaking, is that Kay was right, telling me that I was no match for this guy. We live in two different worlds, and I'm rather scared of his world. Too much passion and, consequently, too much suffering. We stay silent for a very long time, swimming through the traffic, passing Sheridan Square. 

"I'm sorry that I asked you!" I break the silence when it starts to bother me. 

"Don't worry. It's my own fault to have broached these subjects." 

After this, he's silent again, but he doesn't appear so distant, just thoughtful.

"What do you say, if we go in a movie tonight?" His eyes grow wide, when he looks at me. "I know, you didn't like Hollywood, but a movie is not the same."

The sweet smile reappears on his face. 

"Thank you for the invitation, but usually, I don't go to see movies."

"Don't tell me you despise them too?"

"Not really, but I have never assisted gone to a movie without falling asleep, or dozing off after a while." He grins apologetically. "That's the reason why I don't go to the movies very often." I can't believe it. We really live in two different worlds. And his world doesn't even have movies. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm completely shocked. And I will not believe you until you prove it. Nobody falls asleep at the movies, I mean people fall asleep in symphony concerts, operas, or ballets, but not –"

I don't realize what I have said, until his smile becomes very mischievous. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles, rubbing my arm with affection. 

"We will see."

*

The house looks even more run down in the daylight. And that's something that can be said about most of the houses on this street, it's only strange that even the store rooms in the ground floor are empty. I park the car on the other side of the street, and open the door. 

"Wait!" Shintaro grips my arm, then nods his head at the store in the neighboring house. Four men are coming out of this store, one of them is a heavily built guy. "Wait in the car! I will follow them. Just wait and see if something happens! I will be back in a few minutes." He opens the car door, while I'm still watching these guys. Wondering what might be so special about them. A little voice is calling in my mind, but I can't understand what it wants to tell me. "Do you still have the chain?"

"Yes, but – hey, I want to have fun too. Don't do this alone!" I take the chain out of my pocket, suddenly I'm remembering. I had fought with the big guy when we were defending the girls and I know him. He is one of these good-for-nothings who worked regularly for the "Family", doing dirty jobs like convincing people how much they needed the "Family" to protect them, or going on big robbery jobs. "Hey!"

"We have no time to discuss. Do what I say, just for once! Watch the white car! Okay?" 

He takes the chain. Winding it around his hand, he follows these guys, still on our side of the street. Distracted, I look after him for a very long time, gaping. In sheer wonder at how a man could walk so gracefully and controlled at the same time. I observe him, leering at this living poem, until he crosses the street because these guys turn the corner. 

Fuck! I have almost missed it. The white car that has parked about six feet behind us. I only realize that the guy in the car might be interested in the same thing as I am, when I see him getting out of the car. He passes me, following Shintaro, or simply choosing the same way. It's just an ordinary guy in a suit, wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase. He could be a business man, or a commercial traveler, nothing interesting about him. But my expert eye from a lot of detective movies realize he's tailing Shintaro. Should I follow him too, or wait? I picture us following each other, and it seems very ridiculous to me. No real detective would do this. But, I can do something else. I know that Arthur always has something to write on in the car. To be prepared whenever the muse might strike him.

Great! Very pleased with my idea, I take the pencil and the notebook from the glove-box, get out of the car and note the license number. Then I risk a glance in the car, and shake my head. Very bad ... This guy has never seen a detective movie, for leaving his binoculars in the car. Trying to hide it under the seat wasn't a good idea either, because I can still see them anyway. Unfortunately, he isn't stupid enough to forget documents in the car. Somewhat disappointed, I return to my car. Who the fuck could have an interest in my lovely red-head? The "Family" would not send a private eye to watch someone, it wasn't their style. Besides, it would be too early for them to know about him. 

After a few minutes, waiting grows incredibly boring, I sink deeper in my seat. Humphrey Bogart never had to wait such a long time for something to happen. Just at the moment when I'm thinking about looking for Shintaro, I see this man in the mirror. A tall and lanky man with blond hair. If not for the hair cut, I would have taken him for a journalist. He wears this kind of constant grin, a shark-like grin, I have seen it on journalists when they approach someone. Even Kay practices this expression sometimes, but he isn't this kind of a journalist. The "journalist" has stopped by the white car, frowning. Then he takes a notebook out of his jacket and scribbles something before putting the note behind the windshield wiper. After this he goes away. 

Happily, I clap my hands, rising up and getting out of the car again. Nonchalantly, I pass the other car, picking up the note and continuing on my way for a few feet, before I slap my forehead and return to my own car, as if I had forgotten something. Opening the door I look at the note. _What the fuck are you doing? Call me at the bureau immediately!_ That's all. No real message, no telephone number. My beautiful little performance and all I got was this. At least, it proves that the blond man must be the employer of the guy with the briefcase. 

Still thinking about the meaning of this message, I see a familiar figure in the mirror. He has made the whole tour around the block. A little stroll while I've been waiting in this car like a fucking idiot. And even now, he still takes his time, looking in the store windows as he passes. 

"Thank you for waiting!" He says when he finally reaches the car, opening the door and setting himself beside me. "Now, tell me, what happened!" 

"Why the fuck can't you tell me before what you want me to do? Instead of leaving me waiting like an idiot." 

This time, I see how he looks in the mirror, but he must have done it all the other time. "I'm not sure, maybe it's just coincidence, but I have seen this car more than once, since that morning. It started to annoy me, to make me nervous." He laughs uncomfortably. "I'm a bit paranoid." 

He's a bit paranoid. What else? 

"The only thing I can tell you is that this guy got out of his car, right after you, and that he has an pair of binoculars in his car. If he really followed you, while you made the tour around the block, he should be back in a few minutes. I have a note of his license number. Do you want it?"

Shintaro shrugs, but takes the note out of my hand. "What did he look like?"

"Nothing special, like a businessman." 

"Was he blond? With a kind of army hair cut?"

Not him. I can't help looking very curiously at my companion, but at the moment when I open my mouth, I see the businessman right in front of me. "There he is, but he hasn't made the whole tour." Shintaro frowns, rubbing his forehead with his hand, while the businessman is going past us, before he gets in his car again. "But there was another man who was blond, had an army hair cut, and" I take the note from my pocket. "abracadabra – left this message on the car."

I'm very proud to offer him the result of my little private investigation, but his reaction isn't as enthusiastic as I expected. He reads the note, still frowning. Then he takes the pencil I have laid in the open glove-box and starts to rubbing it over the whole note, effacing the letters almost completely. Only after this, his lips curl in a tiny smirk. 

"After all, your action has not been so useless. Even if this guy knows now that I have seen him." I open my mouth, only to close it immediately, finally understanding the flow of his thoughts. He was sure that the blond guy watched me from somewhere while I was taking the note. But this wasn't _my fault_. If Shintaro had informed me about his suspicion, I wouldn't have made this error. "The blond man is a private eye called Jasper Cagney. I have seen the business card from his office at the house with the bakery."

"How can you know this? I mean, that he is a private eye."

Shintaro shows me what his scribbling has revealed. The imprints of a notice from the previous leaf of the notebook: _French saber, slightly damaged blade, silvery knob with broken rubies, 17th century (?), $50_. "He collects old swords. Karen told me." He glances in the mirror. The business man is still sitting in his car, pretending to read a newspaper. "Let's go in!"

"Tell me first who would send a private eye after you?"

"I have absolutely no idea." His smile fades, and his gaze becomes somewhat hazy. What a bad liar he is! "Maybe, the private eye is an undercover agent. The FBI put bugs in Kumiko's phone and the phone at her office." That's nothing new for me. Kay has told me the same about the newspaper he is working for. It's the normal procedure for people who are suspected of communist activities. Doesn't matter if it was true, or not. Some of the FBI guys believe that the Civil Rights Movement is a communist plot. "Maybe, they have included me in their investigations. I don't know."

Sounds very logical, but I still sense that he is hiding something. However, I'm also sure that he wouldn't tell me if I asked him. As usual, it's him who sets the pace.

"What's about these guys you followed?" I ask to change the subject. "You should have waited one second longer, and I would have told you that we have fought with some of them. To help the girls."

"I know that."

"Yes, Mister Super-Detective, but you don't know that they work for this organization I told you about yesterday."

Now, Shintaro's finally impressed, thoughtfully tapping his lips with the pencil. Oh god! Not that! The vision I have would get me immediate damnation. He doesn't even need to smile.

"That's very interesting. The went into a night club that seems to be a hidden casino."

"Don't tell me that you fought them off all while I was waiting here?" I try to joke.

He shakes his head, smiling again, but for my taste, he has a little bit too much amusement in this smirk. "I wouldn't do that. Maybe Karen knows something about this. After all, they are from her neighborhood. Okay, let's go in now!" 

*

We can hear the piano from the open door of the Dance School. It's a slow, rather melancholic piece of music, very classical. I'm carrying the larger suitcase that is not so heavy, while Shintaro is carrying the smaller suitcase. He's not at all out of breath. And instead of going to the Kaszowiz apartment, he's guided by the music. I follow him a bit slower.

He has stopped at the entrance of a room with mirrors and large windows, leaning against the frame with closed eyes. The suitcase is standing in the small corridor at the entrance. I'm rather surprised to see the weasel-girl. Though, she had said that she played piano, and was preparing herself for the Academy of Music, I hadn't thought that she could play like that. She was concentrating so hard on her music that she didn't realize we were watching her. Sometimes she frowns, and makes an angry grimace, then repeats a part that sounded perfect to my ears. It was almost unbelievable that I saw that this was the same bouncy and chatty girl, but I could sense that she had collected all her energy and focused it on her music. 

And suddenly, I remembered what Arthur had said about her, when I asked him why he hadn't told her about the band. In one of this moments when he was really, really clear in his mind. He said, that she was like a little, living flame when she made music, or when she was absolutely convinced by something. That she had so much strength. That she was able to find her way, to accomplish everything she wanted. And a lot more crap that just served to explain, why he wanted her to stay away from him. Because she would spend all her strength in useless fights if she stayed with him. 

"Hey, you jerks," The girl exclaimed, and suddenly stopped playing. "I'm working. What would you do if I watched you for hours while you were working. It sucks!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Mimi." Shintaro excused himself immediately. "I didn't want to disturb you. Just, - Is it Beethoven?"

In a matter of seconds, her angry face melts in a large cheerful smile. 

"Yes, indeed, it's the eighth sonata, the pathetic one, you know," She lets out a dramatic, heavy sigh and continues. "and I hate him for writing pieces who sound so easy to play, and in reality, are very difficult. However, he is a real challenge. Now, let me practice!" 

She signals us with to go. Turning my back to her, I hear the piece starting at the beginning. A slow suite of long chords. It sounds really very easy to play. 

The door of the Kaszowiz apartment is also open, but Shintaro rings the bell, polite as he is. The little missy appears in the doorway, with a happily flushed face and an even brighter smile when she sees us. Her arm hangs in a sling.

"Hi, Kenneth!" Oh, we are already on the first name basis! She glances only quickly at me, nodding, before she turns her attention to him again: "This is such a wonderful day. I had so many nice visitors. Come in!" 

"Hi, Karen!" They are indeed both on the first name basis. "I would like to, and -."

"Let's not talk in the doorway or hallway! Come in, and you too!" Finally, she has decided to notice me, and we all can go in the apartment. 

If I had known what I had to face, I wouldn't have set foot in the apartment. At the big table in the large kitchen sits Shawn, or Sarah which is how he prefers to be called. He looks even more femme than usual, because he is wearing a dress today. For a second, I'm amazed that the little missy knows a queen, and I think that perhaps she doesn't have any problem with gay people. 

Shawn stands up when we enter. 

"I hope you feel better today, sweetheart." He says with a somewhat strange voice, but beaming and changing cheek kisses with my companion. I'm on alert immediately. Sweetheart?! I thought, Shawn preferred only guys bigger than him, but – who might know what he wants in connection with this strange little red-head. "You looked so sad yesterday."

No, no, Shintaro told me that he hadn't looked for men last night, he said it and I believe him. But I'm so fucking jealous nevertheless, that someone would pick my lovely friend before me. 

"Thank you for your concern. I'm feeling very much better now." He smiles, his hand still laying on this guy's shoulder when he turns to me. "This is Sam Sherman, a friend of mine," He explains, and I don't understand anything. Shawn's eyes grow huge, as if he was stunned. Does he want to pretend not to know me? "and this is Thea Sealsfield. She is Karen's friend, and works with her at the club."

I'm gaping. Fucking shit! Shawn's sister? He has a sister, a twin even as far as I can see. I had sex with him a few times, and now I have confused him with his sister! And her subtle smile tells me that she knows that, but Shintaro notices my reaction but doesn't understand it and looks confused. 

"Nice to meet you, Sam, Sarah has told me interesting things about you." Thea says quietly.

"Sarah?" Karen interjects nearly laughing. "Do you really call him that, Thea?"

"It makes him happy. Why shouldn't I call him by whatever name he prefers?"

"But, it is not wise to encourage him in his foolishness."

"Please, Karen, let's not discuss this now. I know your opinion on this matter." I feel so fucking uncomfortable. We are standing in this kitchen, Shintaro without any idea what they are talking about. I'm just hoping that the little missy will not come to conclusions after Thea's reference. Thea finally sighs, shrugging. "I've got to leave now." She breaks the moment of silence, turning to Shintaro. "I hope I'll see you again, sweetheart. It was very nice working with you. But Karen can't stand it any longer, if she had to stay home the entire day."

"Take care, Miss Thea!" 

"I'm sorry, Thea. Sometimes I speak without thinking." We can hear the voice of the little missy, when she's walking the other girl to the door. "Please, don't be mad at me!"

Then their voices become just a soft murmur, not loud enough to hear from the kitchen.

"Sarah is a face queen." I use the time to explain, adding even if it was not really necessary. "Her real name is Shawn."

"Oh!" That's all that he says, then tilting his head a bit, he smiles. "That explains a lot."

A few moments later, his shoulders start to shake, and he raises one hand to cover his face. Flushing red is spreading slowly over his cheeks and his neck. And little choked sounds come from behind his hand. 

"Hey, there's no need to cry." Embarrassed, I reach out for his shoulder.

"I'm – not – crying." He chokes out, before he clutches my arm and laughs his fucking ass off. "You – should – have seen – your face, when you saw her. It was – You thought - " 

"That's it! Just mock me! You heartless bastard!" 

My words just make him laugh harder and he is almost leaning against me. And instead of getting angry, I feel a familiar stiffness between my legs and a pounding in my temples. It feels just feels right to grip his arm too.

"Sorry, but – but you look so cute when you are jealous." 

I don't believe my ears. What did he just say? Me cute? While I'm still amazed by this words, he regains his balance, letting my arm go. I will open my mouth to protest against his suggestion. To make clear that I haven't been fucking jealous at all. And I'm not cute!

"I'm such a jerk sometimes." Karen says, returning in the kitchen at the very same moment. "I have forgotten how protective Thea is. Her brother wants to be a girl. It's silly, but he is like that. And he is a nice guy nevertheless."

Nevertheless! I would not consider Shawn to be a nice guy, crazy like he is, but I don't say anything. Besides, he's not crazy because he's a queen, only one of the craziest people I know. A real fucking diva. 

"But this is not what I wanted to talk about." Karen continues, not realizing the growing tension. She might be just naive, or she might be stupid, either one could cause a lot of problems. "Sit down, please! Do you want something to eat or to drink?" 

"No, thank you for your kindness, Karen."

What? I'm hungry, because I have skipped lunch for him. 

"I would like something _to drink and to eat_." 

We look at each other, before we start grinning. Karen smiles too, but her glance at me is somewhat angry. Then she goes to get something to drink and to eat out of the fridge.

*

"Thank you for sending Maggie to me, Kenneth!" She says when she comes back with glasses. "She said that I could back to work, if I wanted."

"I didn't send her." Shintaro says smiling, going himself to get a bottle of orange juice. Orange juice? Well, a man has to make some sacrifices. "When did she come?"

"Yesterday, in the late afternoon. You really didn't send her? She came on her own?"

"Obviously," Then he pours juice in the glasses. He still smiles, but his lips are a bit tightened as if he was unhappy. "she is like that. You can always count on her."

"Yeah, I'm completely exhausted now." The yawning weasel-girl interrupts us, stretching. She takes that is supposed to be mine, sits down, and empties it in one gulp. 

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

"You hadn't touched it yet." She says, her tongue quickly swirling around her lips, to collect even the drops left there. Then she takes one of the untouched glasses and sets it before me, beaming. "Did you speak with King Arthur?"

She crosses her arms on the table, resting her chin above them and blinking at me. And I can't tell her. No idea why, but I feel unable to tell this cheerful face, that Arthur preferred not to see her anymore, because he didn't want her to suffer. That he told me to keep my nose out of this affair. 

"I forgot."

"You, rooster, I knew it." Quickly she raises up her upper body, punching her little fist in my arm. It doesn't hurt very much, but I'm angry, because I have been so nice to her. And this was the thanks. What an ungrateful girl! "I can't trust you with this."

"Why don't you come to the "Velvet" tomorrow?" Shintaro is asking.

"I would like to, but I can't." Mimi says, almost whining. "They asked me to assist at a meeting. I know it's only a pretext to prevent me from going out at night, but it's an obligation anyway." 

"The address is 27, Broome Street." If she wants to become miserable she can do it on her own. "The thing is called 'Underground'. If you aren't faint-hearted, you can pass on Saturday evening." It would not be my fault if she appeared there, anybody could have told her. Her reaction to my words is terrifying, because she is hugging me violently. Oh my, love is such a foolish thing! Everyone infected with it goes fucking crazy. "Hey, I ask you to strangle me!"

The others are chuckling. Mimi lets me go, giggling somewhat nervously. "Whose suitcases are in the hall?" She tries to distract us.

"They are mine."

"I have convinced you. You will take the little apartment!" The little missy exclaims happily.

"I'm not sure, if –"

"No, no. It's such a great idea. Come on, let's have a look to see if we need to arrange anything!" 

"But –"

"No," Suddenly, her voice grows very menacing. "the first idea is always the best idea." 

He doesn't contradict her again, and we go over to the school again. The entrance to the apartment is at the end of the corridor. And I see that Shintaro has been right. Even if it looks a bit run down, it's a fine place to stay. There's a bathtub with a shower in the small bathroom. It has feet like lion-claws, and I can't help but grin, when Shintaro tells us: "The first time we came here, Kumiko and I, we came to clean, because Kumiko this job offer in the newspaper. I had to help her with the cleaning, and we cleaned this apartment too. I played a little game with myself, pretending that the bathtub was a lion." His smile grows sheepish. "I was nine years old, you understand." 

My grin gets a bit strained, when I imagine him lying in the bathtub filled with bubbling water, outstretched lazily. His hair down, spread in the water, sticking on his skin. This skin would be covered with water drops and goose-bumps, tightening –

"Sam, what are you dreaming about?" He is asking at the door. The others have already left the room. His eyes are sparkling lights, lingering from my head to my feet. "Yes, I can picture it. But the other picture is very nice too." 

Then he laughs quietly, leaving me alone. I have the strong suspicion, that he adores flirting. And it's not the first time I have this idea. Is it what still keeps me attracted? I know that tonight I will return home as unsatisfied as all the other days. So what is all this effort for?

Oh yes, I will even go alone to the movies. It's decided when we are all looking at the main room. The room itself is quite nice, with two windows, one of them leading to a fire escape, a small day bed, an armchair, an old dresser, a little bookshelf hanging on the wall, and a small desk with a chair. But whoever has was the last boarder, he left the apartment in a more terrible condition as I would. The little missy turns bright red, because she didn't know it, or forgot it. 

"I know what I will be doing the rest of the day." My lovely red-head says sighing. That is the moment I've deciding that I'd better disappear. I'm nobody's cleaning lady. 

When I'm already on the stairs, he comes after me: "Wait a moment! I wanted to thank you!" 

"What for?" I ask, stopping and returning. The frustration that he wants to spend the rest of the day cleaning, diminishes a bit.

"For being there when I needed it, for forcing me to talk about the things bothering me, for – " His cheeks are slightly redden, while he starts playing with my jacket. Then he laughs quietly, a bit nervously. "Good grief! How clumsy! I'm not so good at this anymore, you know."

"You are good enough." 

I say, grinning at his embarrassment. Did I already say how cute he looks like that? I clutch his shirt, to pull him towards me. The smile I sense when our lips meet, fades quickly when he answers my kiss with his usual fervor, not clumsy at all. I don't know how long this blissful moment lasts. Whenever my hands are buried in the silky mass of his hair, or lying on the small of his back, or cupping his ass, I never have any notion of time. 

It is the sharp gasp of a third person who distracts me from the delicious textures of his mouth. Mimi is looking at us in complete shock. 

"How can you?" She blurts out. "How can you face damnation without any regret?"

My jaw is tightening at her words, I'm speechless. Shintaro isn't, wherever he finds the courage to say such things: "I don't believe in the damnation you are talking about, or heaven, or hell. The only hell, and the only damnation I know are made by the hatred and the fears of human beings. The only heaven I know is making other people smile. That's all there is and I can live with that."

Wow! Fair enough! You don't even need the menace of hellish flames to suffer with such a belief. But the girl doesn't understand this. 

"Not believing it doesn't make it disappear! Being an atheist doesn't save you." She doesn't wait for any reply, running down the stairs. 

"Now, she hates us."

"No, I don't think so. It troubles her that she could feel sympathy for people like us however."

This man's just crazy, in the weirdest way I could imagine. Believing in humanity, in reason and tolerance. Defending a crazy girl who sees us already rotting in hell. I can't really understand what gives him the endurance for that. 

"So, will you tell your little landlady, that you too are a silly man who wants to be a girl?"

"I don't want to be a woman, but – I think I should wait for the right moment." He isn't completely indifferent to negative feelings, or prejudges, although he tries. I can read it in the embarrassed expression on his face, and how he starts to chew his bottom lip "Not today! As I said I'm a coward about this."

"Sure. That's what you have just proved." 

"Alright, Sam!" Shintaro takes a deep breath. "I will go back and start to clean up this mess."

"You are a perfect little housewife."

"Shut up, Sam!" He says and closes my mouth with another kiss, more playful this time, before he gives me a little slap on my buttocks. "See you!"

Whenever you want, we still have something to conclude. I turn away before he can see how much this prospect delights me.

****

Author's notes:

1. Let's talk about twins! I hope you like Thea and Shawn/Sarah Sealsfield aka Tae and Sae Sekihara. I inserted them because I needed a few more people who can figure in the up-coming parties in my later parties. And for torturing Sam a bit with his ex-lovers. (Sometimes, I'm a very mischievous goddess for my poor creatures.) 

2. Let's talk about other characters: In the last chapter, I have presented Kumiko as the most important original character. Other original characters playing a considerable role are Brian Reynolds and (although his name) Sozaru. Brian Reynolds was not supposed to be an important character in the beginning. And even now, he is just one of these guys, who in the manga, help the bad guys. Sozaru is really dead, and will not reappear out of his grave, but he has importance for more than one person in this story. He isn't Okita, and the name is based on a character from the movie "Tabou", or "Gohatto" called Sozaburo. It just sounded nice to my ears, and as much as for _Jaspar Cagney_, or Kenneth _Farrel_ I chose a name which just plopped in my head. 

3. Let's talk about movies! Comparing Arthur with Errol Flynn is just a sign of Sam's disrespectful view on his cousin. Errol Flynn is especially famous for playing one of the first Robin Hood's. Today, his playing attitude seems rather pathetic.   
Humphrey Bogart has figured in some detective movies, like Raymond Chandler's Philipp Marlowe and Sam Spade in "The Maltese Falcon" (based on the book of Dashiell Hammett). If you think that Sam's performance of a private detective looked somewhat stupid, you are right. 

4. Let's talk about American-Japanese history: I have read and hope that it is true that Americans with Japanese origins received American passports in 1952. The journey to Japan I invented just for my story, and I'm not sure how and if people could have gotten such a permission already in the Fifties.   
Yes, it's purpose that Sam doesn't connect anything with the name of Nagasaki. 

5. Let's talk about Beethoven: The piano Sonata, No. 8, called "Pathetic", is one of the pieces Mimi prepares for her competition. I chose it because, the mentioned Adagio is familiar for people who have seen the Kyoto Arc until its end. It is the piece played when Yumi dies. 

6. Let's talk about life and New York:   
After one of my sources, a face queen is a man who wears make-up, but not women's clothes.   
The mentioned police raid on the West Street has no importance for the storyline, but I introduced it to describe the anti-gay or anti-lesbian atmosphere in this time.   
The West Street was like one part of the Washington Square Park a place frequented by gay men to look for contacts. 

7. Last but not least: Thank you:

Kensuyoko for reviewing the first chapter and the last chapter. Every review is an encouragement for me.

Pirandella for all what I owe you. I hope I could surprise you as you wanted.

Fitz because I care a lot about your opinion. 

Please, dear and worthy readers, be nice to me and let me know your opinion. Everything (excepted really flames) is welcome and will help me to make the story better.


	6. Chapter 6: Poetry in Motion

****

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

Thanks for reading and helping: Pirandella (hundred bows as usual) and fujifunmum (also hundred bows)

Thanks for all comments and comfort: Kensuyoko, Fitz, Firuze and Mara

And Wombat - thanks for the research

Warnings for this chapter: No warnings? Yes, no warnings, maybe a bit for language. 

****

Chapter 6: Poetry in Motion

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

I had fallen asleep, sitting in the warm sunlight on the porch of the house. The voices of my daughter and my grand-child, animated by the play, were a like a lullaby. We were alone, because my beloved had to train her students and the step-daughter had gone to shop.   
The piercing pain woke me up. For some moments, I was sitting there, fighting with it, fighting for breath and strength. I know my face didn't reveal this much, an effect of training, but she was looking at me nevertheless, concerned and knowingly. Even a smile cannot delude her.   
Accompanied by the little one, she had helped me to go inside and lay down, then brought me the medicine against the pain. I don't like it to haze my mind, but when the body cries for rest, what can I do.  
Now, some hours later, I feel a bit better, though not really good.   
And I feel regret, that I will never know the person she would be when she is fully grown up. My beloved daughter whose whole life taught me to smile at a name that had meant only pain and sorrow for so many years.   


****

New York, May 13, 1965

Jasper Cagney was waiting for the call that that would give him his first real break in the case? 

As the phone was ringing, he picked up the receiver.

"Jasper, I -." It was the man in charge of observing Farrel.

"You asshole! I have forbidden you to call me today."

"I'm sorry, boss, but the person under surveillance has just entered this house."

"What?" At the same moment, someone was knocking at the door of Jasper Cagney's office. He replaced the receiver: "Come in!"

It was the red-head, holding something in his hands. He was wearing a finer jacket than the other days, but looked all the same, and he smiled. As if he was ignoring that Jasper Cagney had pierced the stupid little game the two fags had played yesterday. 

"Good Afternoon, sir! You are Mister Jasper Cagney, private detective, aren't you?" He asked very politely, and Jasper Cagney had no choice except to nod. He was so happy that the desk was between him and the smiling red-head, this protection gave him enough security to grin back. "My name is Kenneth Farrel. Miss Kaszowiz told me that you are a specialist in old weapons. I want to know your opinion about this." He unwrapped the thing he was holding in his hand and laid it on the desk.

It was a Japanese sword, hidden in an iron sheath. 

"Can I have a look at it?" Jasper Cagney found his voice. His eyes fixed on the weapon, he forgot for a moment with whom he was dealing. 

"Of course! If you want!" He stood up and took the sword, drawing it out of its sheath. And he frowned, because the sharp edge was on the wrong side. Besides that, the sword was the work of a master artisan. "I know that it hasn't so much –"

This stupid fag had no idea at all of the worth of this weapon.

"It is a master work, perfectly balanced. Though, the blade is somewhat flexible because of this nail that is a bit loosened. Late Tokugawa era, the middle of the last century, made by a real master." Jasper Cagney could not withdraw his eyes from the precious weapon. "Do you want to sell it?"

"No, I just wanted to know its value." Farrel said nonchalantly, while the private detective was still admiring the wonderful blade. "It's a sword that doesn't kill." 

A strange idea, the detective thought, maybe a bit naive. A sword that didn't kill was a contradiction in itself, but even so, Jasper Cagney could picture it perfectly in his collection. 

"If you want to sell it, tell me. It would be a shame to give it to ignorant people." Like you, he continued in his mind, putting the sword back in its sheath. 

"I will think about it." The red-head said smiling, then scratched the back of his head. "How much do you charge?" 

"It depends on the job." Jasper Cagney returned, putting a business-like coolness on his face. Without success, he tried to decipher the meaning behind this bright smile. 

"I want you to find out some things about a man called Santa Gallo and a casino with the name 'Purgatory'." 

Jasper Cagney kept his poker face, but his brain worked under high-speed. Karen Kaszowiz must have told Farrel about Santa Gallo, and, obviously, the red-head didn't know that the "Purgatory" was located in a neighbored street. At the moment as Jasper Cagney was opening his mouth to say that he would be pleased to help in this affair, the phone rang. 

Time stood still. 

The private detective looked in the curiously blinking, violet eyes, unsure what he should do. 

The phone rang a second time.

"Your phone is ringing, Mister Cagney." The red-head said politely, nodding towards the phone, taking his sword from the table. 

These words broke the tension, and Jasper Cagney took the receiver. "Cagney, private detective agency!"

"Nice to meet you, Mister Cagney! My name is Simon O'Sullivan. Please, let me know when we can meet!" If not for the strange accent, the private detective almost believed that it could be the red-head, as cheerful and polite as this voice sounded.

"I will come back another time, Mister Cagney. Good bye!" This red-head said, still smiling, while he was going to the door of the office. 

The smile became a slight amused glint, just before the man was gone. And suddenly, Jasper Cagney knew that he had been fooled by this visit. For whatever purpose, it was a textbook tactic.

"Mister Cagney, are you still there?" The cheerful voice in the phone asked him, while he was struggling with the violent urge to follow the fag and kill him. 

Instead, the private detective, undercover agent and future criminal cleared his throat. 

"I'm sorry, O'Sullivan. I was distracted." 

***

"I'm very sorry, miss," The old man's face was an expression of pure concern. "Kenneth Farrel is already gone. He asked me to let him go home early today, and I did him this favor. He was already busy enough this morning. He is such a friendly young man." Mister Gelbstein has a strange manner of speaking, very thoughtful and slowly, as if weighing the words before pronouncing them. He lays his hand on a big glass filled with candies that is standing on the counter. "Can I do something else for you, Miss – I believe I have seen you already, but I don't remember clearly."

"Kaszowiz. My name is Karen Kaszowiz, I have sold you some books, formerly belonging to my grandparents." I couldn't read them anyway, because they were written in Polish, German, or Yiddish. "It was in January."

"Oh yes, yes." Smiling, Mister Gelbstein comes around the counter, goes to one of the shelves in his store and picks up a book. "I always remember the books." Showing me a book, a German novel, formerly belonging to grand-ma:_ Schloß Gripsholm_, written by an author called Kurt Tucholski, he reads loudly. "_Ex Libris Anna Blum. _She was a ballet dancer, wasn't she?"

I'm touched as usual, finding someone remembering grand-ma. 

"Yes, she was." Mister Gelbstein nods smiling and puts the book gently back in its place. "Could I ask you a favor, Mister Gelbstein?"

"Whatever you want, Miss Kaszowiz!"

"I'm trying to continue my grand-ma's dance school and do a little bit publicity for it. Can I put up a notice in your store." 

I didn't come for this reason, but as I'm here, I might as well ask. 

"Of course, Miss Kaszowiz." The old man points to a message board near the door where other announcements are hanging. Then he continues: "I have a few granddaughters. Maybe, one of them would like learning to dance."

"How old are they?" It sounds too perfect to be real, new students falling in my lap.

"Susanna is three years old, Hannah is five years old, and Deborah is eleven years old."

"Three years is a little too young, but the others could try it out if they want to."

I find an unused tack and pin my announcement on the board. 

"I'm mostly at home in the afternoon. They can call me, before they want to come." I explain, pointing to the telephone number on my notice. "But, now I have to go home. It was nice to meet you again, Mister Gelbstein."

The old man smiles and accompanies me even out to the street. 

I feel a bit rude about my abruptness, but the question why Kenneth wanted to go home so early is disturbing me. I was just looking for him because I wanted so badly to repair what had been damaged yesterday. And to share my new-found enthusiasm. But what should I do if he didn't want to stay after yesterday? 

It had been such a nice afternoon, me and Kenneth. We spent it cleaning the apartment, chatting and remembering silly things from the old times. Then Yacko came home, yelling at me about how could I permit "this queer" to live with us, and if wasn't I scared that "this queer" might harass him. While I was trying to get him in our apartment, _the woman_ arrived. Her timing was as perfect as ever to embarrass me. She told Kenneth she pitied him for having to put up with annoying people like us and then she dragged him away to go out with her. They didn't came home but very late in the night. I had no chance to speak with him, and the fear that he might not feel welcome is worrying me.

*

While climbing the last stairs to our floor, accompanied by the Beethoven sonata, I smell something luscious, somewhat sweet and salty at the same time. The mixture of beautiful music and delicious scent spreads out from the open door with the "Kaszowiz Dance School"-engraving. It had to be a good sign. If Kenneth was cooking, he couldn't be gone already.

Somewhat reassured, I go in our apartment first. I get out of my coat and lay my purse on the kitchen table. Then I put the few things I bought in the fridge and the cabinets, before I follow the mouth-watering smell through the corridor in the small apartment. 

Kenneth is busy in the kitchen, only wearing blue-jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt, hair tied in a ponytail. The scarf he is wearing today is red. At the moment I enter Kenneth is cutting vegetables, then putting them in a large bowl. He has more bowls prepared, filled with onions, pieces of meat, and a dark sauce. The whole room is filled with delicious aromas, coming out of a big pot and a strangely formed pan. 

"Good afternoon, Karen!" Kenneth greets me with a brief smile, stirring the sizzling contents of the pan with a wooden spoon and expert movements.

"Hi! You could have used our kitchen, it is so much more comfortable than this little room."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to mess it up." 

"Don't worry! The function of a kitchen is to prepare food." I answer cheerfully, because he is showing no sign of anger or hurt. "If you want to cook, then use it. If you make a mess, then clean it afterwards. And if you ask very nicely and the food was very good, then I may help you with cleaning. But beware, I consider the kitchen a battle field."

"I see. You wanted to hire a cook, in exchange for the apartment."

"How did you find it out?" I return his joke. "And I'm looking for more than just a cook; I want a maid, too."

"Maybe, I should ask for an increase in salary." He says, putting the vegetables in the pan, then covering it with an also strangely formed cover.

"Only if you do the laundry and clean our rooms too." His answer is a quiet laugh, while he is taking two little bowls and two glasses out of the cabinet, piquing my curiosity. "Where did you get all these things? I don't think that they were in your suitcases."

"Maggie has – well, forced me to go shopping yesterday. She is convinced that, if I wish to live here, I should be ready to stay. And starting by buying more things than fit in two suitcases. For that reason, she forced me to buy a pot for cooking rice and a wok pan and other things for Asian cooking." 

__

The woman seems to be more reasonable than I thought. 

"Of course, you should stay! What meaning would it have to make you this offer, if you don't stay?" Kenneth opens the drawer and takes a pair of chopsticks and a fork out of it, then sets everything on a pretty, red tray. Meanwhile, he doesn't say anything. The smile is somewhat faded, and he is looking thoughtful. He might be thinking about his answer. "You are really welcome here, even if you don't have enough money to pay for this apartment."

"No, money is not the problem. I have a job, and I can pay you. You need the money, I haven't forgotten it." Finally, he hands me the tray. "Would you please carry it into the other room?"

He tries to distract me, but I take the tray nevertheless. Then I look down at it, somewhat irritated.

"Why did you only lay one pair of chopsticks on it? Don't you want to eat?" 

Lifting my gaze, I meet his helpless questioning eyes.

"No, but –"

"Hey, Kenneth, you can't have forgotten!"

"What?"

"You taught me to eat with chopsticks. You said it is like swimming, or riding a bicycle, once you have learned you never forget." 

"I'm sorry, Karen." Grinning apologetically, he scratches his head and goes back to the drawer. "I really forgot." He says, laying a second pair of chopsticks on the tray. 

Satisfied, that he feels guilty to have forgotten, I go over to the living room. 

My jaw drops when I see it. Yesterday the room looked like a pigsty, today it looks like a home. Kenneth has pushed the sleeping-couch in another corner of the room and the armchair to the window with the fire stairs. Arranging both like a nice sitting corner around a little table that must be another result of the yesterday's shopping trip. And they have bought a colored carpet, a lamp and a bedside-table with a drawer placed beside the couch. Some of these things look as if they had been used, but not damaged. Books have found their way to the bookshelf, but the strangest thing is the desk. 

At the wall above it, Kenneth has hung a painting with strange characters and a finely drawn, strange landscape, and on the table itself are standing photos and a black metal box. I would have taken it for a shrine, if there were not paper and pen on the table. I set the tray on the small, new table to have a look at the photos.

There are three. One picture shows a young couple in old fashioned clothes. The women, with unmistakably Asian features, had been pregnant when the photo was taken, and her smile – just a few moments before, I have seen it on Kenneth's face, but he doesn't look as distinctly Asian as her. The man is a very handsome, somewhat Scotch looking, bright hair and bright eyes, and his grin shows a mixture of pride and tenderness.

In the second photo, I see three pretty girls in strange costumes and a serious looking man in the typical surroundings of a photographer's atelier studio, while in the third photo, a colored photo, a woman in high fashioned clothes is standing beside a bright new car. And there it is again – the familiar smile, although she cannot be the woman from the other photo.

"This is Miya." 

I hadn't realized that he had joined me and almost jump when I hear his voice behind me. He holds a water bottle in his hands.

"Don't do that again! You almost gave me a heart attack." 

"I'm sorry." 

He sets the bottle on the table, then leaves the room again.

The name is not unfamiliar for me, because I have read about her in the last letter, sent from Japan some months ago. 

"Miya. She is your cousin, isn't she?" I ask when Kenneth comes back.

"How do you know -?" 

"The letter."

"You really know them all?"

"All you sent in the last four years." His look has grown very odd. Maybe, he is realizing only now, how much I know about him through these letters. Quickly, I take the photo with the girls and the man and hold it before him. "Who are they?"

His smile is back. 

"These are the Sakamura sisters with her father, my grand-father. He was a doctor. The photo has been taken in Tokyo. In 1929, I think. Their mother had died three years before, and in 1929, they moved over to Nagasaki, where my grand-father got a job in a clinic. " Oh, yes, Nagasaki. He wrote a lot about it in his letter, too. "This is Kazumi, Miya's mother," He indicates the eldest girl, rather a young woman, who is looking as seriously as the man, obviously conscious of the honor to be taken included in the photo. "Akane and Kumiko." The two other girls, maybe ten and six years old, are struggling to keep a straight face, trying vainly to imitate the posture of their father and their sister. "Akane was my mother. "

I know that his parents are dead, grand-ma told me. Searching for words, I put the photo back in its place and gaze at the third photo, the happy young couple. 

"The dinner is ready.", Kenneth breaks the silence and gestures to the little table where he had set large bowls with rice and a mix of vegetables and meat.

"Your mother was a sweet little girl." I say finally. "And a very beautiful woman."

"Yes, she was." His voice doesn't betray anything, then he starts to fill the smaller bowls. One moment later, when I settle myself in the armchair, drawing my legs up and taking the bowl and the chopsticks he hands me, Kenneth grins all of sudden, but tries to hide it.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I remembered that you liked to sit curled up in this armchair, because your grand-mother always said 'Watch your posture, child!', when you did it in their apartment." Kenneth explains, before he settles himself on the couch, crossing his legs. 

Strange thing, the memories of grand-ma's occasional harshness were almost faded, because I only remembered the moments of happiness. 

"How was she as a teacher?" 

Eating with chopsticks is not _that_ easy after so much time, but I only need a few minutes before I manage to use them properly.

"Tough, because she always demanded the best. But I had no problems with it, I was used to such people because of Kumiko. If you try very hard and fail Kumiko will comfort you anytime. But if you don't give it your all, she has no sympathy. Your grand-mother was not half as tough as she is." Suddenly, the slight sadness I saw in his eyes the other times we met is back, but he doesn't give me time to say something. "How is your arm today?" 

"Oh, it is fine. I think I can do some exercises later."

"Don't overdo it! If your body says no, you should –"

There it is again. This teacher-like attitude that irritates me so much.

"Kenneth!" He looks up, obviously surprised at the sharpness in my voice. "I know that, you don't have to instruct me."

"Sorry." 

"You really should be." 

I have finished my food quicker than I should have, because I still want more. But this wouldn't be wise if I intent to do some exercises later. 

"After all, the apartment looks as if you would stay." I say, pouring water in one of the glasses, distracting myself from this temptation. "It wouldn't make any sense if you clean and arrange this room only to move out the following day. When did you do this?" 

"In the night, because I couldn't sleep so good." 

Ah, finally we reach the point. Now I won't let him escape, because I need to know the truth.

"Why? If it is because of my stupid brother, don't pay any attention to him. He just repeats what he has heard from kids on the streets."

Kenneth carefully sets his bowl on the new little table and lays the chopsticks beside it. Then he takes a deep breath.

"Would it be a problem, if he is right?"

"What do -?"

"I ... I like men ... I'm attracted to them ... physically."

...

It's not as if I hadn't thought of this. Not only because the other girls had said that about him during the dance casting, but also because I knew that very often male dancers were homosexual. Though, after all, this was Kenneth. The idea to apply the word "queer" to him seemed so odd, because he was not like Shawn or other men like him I knew. Despite his looks and his cooking skills, I never considered him as womanish. He was just Kenneth who always did extraordinary things. 

And now, he is looking at me intently, and the only thing I can say is: "You are kidding." 

"No, but it won't change anything between us. I just ... just thought, ... you should know it."

__

It won't change anything. These words gripped my heart. I think that he may be like grand-ma, only in the other way.

"It's alright, I have no problem with it."

"Really?" At this question, the brightness returns in his eyes and deep relief is lingering on his face.

"Yes, such things don't matter between friends."

"No, they shouldn't." With a smile, he takes his bowl again and continues to eat. "Do you want some more?" 

"Ah no, I shouldn't over eat before my exercises."

But then, - mm, it smells so tasty. ...

*

"I hate this!!"

The windows are vibrating with my yelling, and it feels really good to release it.

Not even an hour, and I'm already tired. My arm still hurts and reminds me every time I move that it doesn't want to be moved yet. 

Six days without the possibility of dancing have driven me to the edge of patience. I need it, I absolutely need it, and it makes me angry when my body is so disobedient. 

"Karen?" I haven't realized Kenneth standing at the door, before he speaks to me. "Can I help you with something?"

He looks at me with concern, but this doesn't help me to feel better. On the contrary, feeling ridiculous, because he has seen me so out of sorts, makes me even more angry.

"Don't look at me so dumbfounded, idiot!"

"Wait a moment!"

He disappears, and I try to calm down. 

Soon after our little conversation, Mimi had come to say good-bye, but Kenneth had invited her for a meal, too. There had been a little tension between them, but she accepted. While they were eating, I had started my exercises. I hadn't realized that she was gone. 

Kenneth comes back a few moments later, and I see that he has changed into more comfortable pants, but kept his scarf. Taking off his shoes, he comes to me, and I feel my cheeks heat. Just concentrate, Karen!, I say to myself, he is just like your colleagues from the dance school, you have no reason to get excited like this. 

"I'm not really warmed up, but I think it will be alright." He says calmly, taking the wrist of my left arm.

I cannot help myself against the goose-bumps covering my back and the little hairs rising up on my neck, when I feel his arm supporting mine, warm skin against my skin. 

"Don't pay attention to me! Do whatever you have to do, just let me hold the arm!"

__

Think professional, Karen! 

I'm very clumsy at the beginning, but then, quickly, we find a perfect rhythm. Even the excitement caused by his nearness fades, because I concentrate on my moves, the silent language of my body. I don't need music to find the balance in myself that I missed. Music is what comes later, the knowledge of limits and strengths is what matters now. I only do basic exercises, but it's important to do them right and with full concentration. A few moments, I forget that I'm not alone. Even as my arm is steadied and his other hand rests lightly on my hip, it is as if Kenneth himself has vanished, giving me space enough to move freely, never disturbing me. He is like my shadow, reacting perfectly to my moves. When I realize that, I start to provoke him, trying to make him stumble, just to see where the limits of his reaction are.

Suddenly I hear him chuckle. "What are you up to?"

"How do you do it?" I ask stopping and turning to look at him. Bad thing to do, Karen, you silly girl! At the moment when my concentration breaks, the excitement is back.

"What?" Slowly, he lets my arm sink.

"What you did. You always knew what I would do."

"It's just a question of concentration."

"Will you explain it to me!"

He shrugs, then says: "Close your eyes! Concentrate only on what you are sensing" and takes my hands to lay them on his own hips. "Do you feel it?" 

I feel shifting muscles, announcing that he would do a step backwards, and when he makes this step, I follow. Then we do the same thing, going in the other direction.

"You do such things all the time when you dance with a partner, reacting to his movements, reacting to a shift of balance, or to a different flow of energy between you and the other person. Normally, you have choreography, giving you both hints about the moves." He explains calmly, while we are continuing this game for some time. "But it is possible to make a whole dance without any choreography. The hints announcing a movement are always there, if you learn to see them and to sense them, not only when you have physical contact with someone, but also when you watch a person. As I said it's just a question of concentration." 

I open my eyes. His are closed, the red lashes, darker than his hair, fluttering against the cheeks. The expression of concentration on his features makes me dizzy. Every person deeply involved in something they love and excel at exudes a kind of charm, a beauty greater than their physical appearance. But him - 

"You say this as if it was the easiest thing of the world." I say quickly, my voice is calmer than I feel.

"Ah, no. It took me some years to learn it. It's something that I experienced for myself because I needed and looked for new ways of expression." Opening his eyes, he smiles, although the hint of sadness in his voice. Then he breaks apart. "We have danced for almost an hour, and you should still take care of your health."

This time, I'm only a bit angry, because I really know that I should not overdo it. 

*

It had been very nice, standing under the stream of warm water and thinking how I fooled the bureaucrats of the welfare with the help of this old lawyer, an acquaintance of my grand-parents. Dreaming about the reckless idea I had had this morning and how I would execute it. Sharing this idea had been the reason why I had gone to Mister Gelbstein's bookstore. I was sure that Kenneth would immediately understand and surely approve my project, knowing what it implied. 

The New York Ballet. Once, grand-ma had told me that, if she hadn't been to old for a new career, she would have tried to enter the New York Ballet. Last year, I was unable to make the last step, although I had been perfectly prepared. Until now, I don't know what held me back. Maybe I just needed to see Mimi and how she followed her path, to find the courage and the self-confidence for this. Or the sudden changes in my life had lifted more of the weights that pressed me down before.

Deeply immersed in my thinking, I hadn't realized Yacko coming home. Only when I leave the bathroom, clad in my bathrobe, I hear him arguing with Kenneth. 

"I can do this alone!"

"As you wish."

"Don't look at me like this!"

"Like what?"

"With that cheesy smile, you look even more queer like that."

I had planned to go immediately to my room. Though, true or not, I cannot tolerate that brat continuing like this, even if Kenneth just laughs.

"I don't see that you can make this alone." He says amused, when I enter the kitchen. 

Whatever I have planned to say, the words die on my lips when I see Yacko. It's not the first time that he comes back with bruises, but this time he looks really beaten up. One of his eyes is swollen and bruised, his lips are bleeding, nasty abrasions cover his arms and hands, and also his right knee. "What happened to you?"

"Mind your own business, stupid girl!", He answers, trying to wrap a bandage around his arm, but he just makes a mess of it. 

"I apologize for going through your belongings, but I had to search a bit for the first aid kit." Kenneth is sitting at the kitchen table. The first aid kit which is normally in a closet stands openly on the table. He has taken a bottle of antiseptic and packets with bandages from it, now opening a new packet. All through the offensive words from my stupid little brother, his look at him is rather amused. 

And it is really pitiful to see Yacko's vain effort of bandaging the hurt parts of his arms and legs. "Let me help you with this!" I say, when I can not stand it anymore. 

"No! Take care of yourself! It's not decent to walk around in a bathrobe, and it's no surprise he's a queer, seeing an ugly girl like you wandering around in a bathrobe." 

What a jerk! Hurt or not, he has no right to talk to me like that, and I give him the slap he deserves. As if I was doing this regularly. I feel embarrassed enough.

"You insolent brat. How can you dare to speak to me like this?" 

"How dare you slap me, you ugly raccoon?" He yells back and tries to hit me back with the bloody and dirty bandages.

"Watch your language, brat!"

We can continue this for hours. It's not the first time. His stupid behavior makes it impossible to deal normally with this brat. But before I get totally carried away with my anger, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, hey!" Kenneth says calmly, his eyes grown wide in surprise. "Why don't you go change, Karen? I can handle it."

"Yeah, he can handle it, and he doesn't want to see you in this bathrobe any longer." Yacko adds in his usual insolent way.

"You –"

"Alright, alright, Karen." Kenneth gently pushes my out of the kitchen, before I can really explode. Then he closes the door.

"Help! I'm alone in the room with a queer." Yacko cries. I know he is just savoring his victory over me, trying to provoke Kenneth to get furious too. 

But, as usual, Kenneth doesn't get furious, only his voice grows a little sharper. "And now, we will stop this funny little game, and clear up a few things." I hear him, before I go in my room.

It's really interesting, how he switches always between a mellow attitude and the teacher-like attitude, I think, while searching for one of my prettier robes. I remember that, back then, he had been more short-tempered than now. Of course, I know better now what bothered him in the past. 

The letters are in a drawer of my little desk, and I find the one I'm looking for very quickly: 

__

Dear Madame Kaszowiz,   
Dear Mister Kaszowiz, ...

Kenneth has never in all this years lost this incredible politeness towards my grand-parents.

__

... Contrary to everything I feared or expected, visiting the city was like healing, the fading of a scar that hurt for such a long time. I never really told you anything about my first trip to Japan, nothing more than some generalities. I'm not so sure why I felt as if I had to keep these things away from you. Maybe, I didn't want to revive your own pain, the guilty feeling of the survivors. Because it was exactly what Kumiko felt in Nagasaki.   
She felt guilty because she had fled and hadn't been there when her father, her sister and so many acquaintances died. She hadn't been ignorant of the bombardment, she knew more than she told me before the trip. However, the realization of the consequences was something she never imagined. Myself, I didn't know what to feel. Too many impressions crowded in on me, and I had to be strong for Kumiko. What else could I do for her?   
After one night of crying - and it was the first time I ever saw her cry - she did what she always does. Instead of sitting and moping, she acted. She started to collect the memories of that day with the intention to make these things public after our return to the US. Of course, she let me choose whether to accompany her, or to stay with Miya's family. But, it won't surprise you that I accompanied her, worried about her extreme reaction. I was right to do so, because sometimes she was too disturbed to write. What else could I do for her?   
I kept my courage up the whole time, it was even easier than I thought, but I didn't feel good about it. I felt that they didn't like Kumiko for questioning them. Japanese don't like to speak about humiliating and harsh experiences. They looked at Kumiko as if she was just a foreign journalist, but she didn't hear when I told her my own impressions. For that reason we stopped speaking about the interviews, I just accompanied her, because I thought it was the least I could do for her. She is my family, and whatever happened between us, she will always be my family, more than the others as much as I like Miya.   
And, yes, it was easier to be courageous than I had thought before. Always, but in the nights I was helpless. I still am sometimes. However, I don't dare speak about these nightmares, because I fear just mentioning them might revive something. Only now, I know that the city of my nightmares has nothing to do with the real city of Nagasaki. As much as the real living, hoping or suffering people of this city have nothing to do with the figures of my nightmares. Their dreams of reconciliation and peace have given me back the courage I had lost on my way. They reminded me of the many different fights that have to be fought. And so does Miya. I'm so proud of her. Her wish to have children in spite of the risks is such a strong sign of hope. Besides, she always includes you in her prayers, since I told her about your losses. Forgive me for taking this liberty. ... 

The first time I read this part I cried, because of the touching idea that a young woman in a far away country might pray for my grand-parents and for their relatives dead in the concentration camps. Regardless of whether she prayed in a synagogue or not. And later as now, I think that Kenneth shouldn't have been alone with his nightmares. I don't remember his aunt, but I don't understand how she could have let him suffer, not seeing it. But, then, I know now that the sickness of my father resulted from what he had learned during the last months of the war. And he made us suffer, even if he hadn't wanted to. He just couldn't help himself. Sometimes, hurt people can only spread their pain.

__

... Tomorrow, we will travel to Tokyo. It's a family funeral. The brother of our grand-mother has died, and his sons and daughters have invited Miya and her husband to participate at funeral. I will accompany them. Realizing how much this country has changed in the last thirteen years makes me hope that I might also find a changed Tokyo, a changed people. Besides, I owe the old man so much, because during the time we stayed with them, he was the only one treating me like a part of his family and not like the bastard of a dishonorable girl. I'm not sure if he didn't think this too, as traditional as he was, and since he was a highly decorated hero of two wars. However, he was friendly to me, and for that reason, I will go there and honor his memory. ... 

It's funny. Now, as I think about it, I can almost picture the old man leaving him that sword Kenneth has told us about. I think he did find a changed people, I think he has made a sort of peace with the country of his mother. Yes, that's what I believe. 

Blinking away a few tears, I put the letter back in the drawer. Then I go in the bathroom to wash my face again, before I return in the kitchen. 

Even before I enter the room, I can hear them speaking, very calmly now. No, Yacko's voice sounds somewhat excited, but in a very enthusiastic way.

"Hey, this is easy."

"You are a fast learner, but you will only know that you have learned it when you can apply it in a real fight."

"Show me more!"

"No! Step by step. Only when you have really understood these basic movements, then you can learn other things."

"Come on!"

"Puppy eyes don't work with me." 

When I enter the kitchen, Yacko who is properly bandaged now and holds a wet pad against his eye, throws me a wicked glance then asks: "But why did you continue that useless dance school, when you have gained such amazing fighting skill?"

He does it because Kenneth who is just preparing another pad at the kitchen sink hasn't seen me yet.

"Only in ancient times could warriors survive by being warriors. It doesn't happen today." Kenneth says, smiling when he turns and notices me. "Besides, I liked the dance more, because I thought it was like flying." 

"That sounds like girly stuff." Yacko retorts, but it's a very tame version of a provocation, and he grimaces when he takes the fresher pad to put it on his eye.

"Perhaps." Kenneth says, starting to clean up the table. "When I was a kid, before we came to New York, one day, Kumiko - my aunt - made a kite for me, a dark red kite. I had it for several months, but one day, a storm was too strong and I lost it. It just flew away. Since that day, I dreamed about flying. When I was here the first time and saw the other children dance it looked a lot like flying to me." Realizing that we are both looking intently at him, he blushes suddenly and scratches his head. "Sorry, I started babbling." Then he looks at Yacko. "Are you hungry?"

We only need a few minutes to put away the first aid kit, to get out the pots and pans in our kitchen, and while Kenneth is cleaning his own kitchen and washing the bowls, I fry some new vegetables and meat in the pan. I make it perfectly. Yes, indeed, not even Yacko can complain about the food. Then we are sitting at the big table, and of course, Yacko wants to show me that he can easily learn to use the chopsticks too, but he is wrong. I grin at his efforts, elegantly eating my third bowl, without dropping one single grain of rice.

Then we explain to Kenneth some things he needs to know about the chores. The cleaning: If he cleans the dancing studio too, he does not need to pay for the apartment. The laundry: It would be his job to go once a week to the laundromat. The cooking: This would be his job too. 

Then he agrees, that, yes, he would clean the dancing studio, but he would pay nevertheless. Yes, he would go to the laundromat - "what is the problem with it anyway?" – "You will know it soon enough." - and do the cooking. And we end by making a plan for the other chores like shopping, cleaning the kitchen, doing dishes and taking out the garbage, because he refuses to do this alone. After all, he is not as mellow as I hoped. Or Yacko hoped.

*

We are still talking, when the door-bell rings. Sighing, I stand up to take a look.

"Good afternoon, Miss Kaszowiz!"

The great man in the black suit is smiling at me, as much as the three men behind him. I recognize one of them from Friday night. 

For seconds, I'm paralyzed by fear. Against all reason because, because Thursday has always been pay-day. I had forgotten it, because these worries seemed too far away since yesterday. Now, seeing them revives the memories of Friday night, and the dreadful knowledge of what could happen to me if I am not careful. 

That's why I blink at them like a deer caught in the headlights, while the grin of the man grows larger. He knows what I feel. The realization of it changes my feelings from fear to anger. After all, facing a visible enemy is less scary than facing an unseen menace. 

"Good afternoon, Mister Santa Gallo! Wait a minute and I will give you the money." I say, going into my room, hoping that Kenneth wouldn't do something stupid. Even though I was very grateful that he saved me that night, I don't want him to stand up to Santa Gallo in person. Standing up to Santa Gallo was different from standing up to his underlings. 

Luckily, everything stays calm while I'm searching for the money. Yesterday Kenneth had given me everything he had earned as my temp. I'm glad now, that he didn't let me force him to keep the half of it. I need all of it.

Santa Gallo is polite, as usual, and waits at the door. I don't know why he does it, maybe to keep up appearances. Once, his men had broken into my apartment, and the nice lawyer my grandparents had recommended, helped me to negotiate with them. Since that time, our business was strictly legal. I could pay the debts by installments. Whether justice was blind or not, it helped me in this little affair. And the few still living friends of my grandparents. It was not their fault that dad made this much debts.

"I see," Santa Gallo says when I hand him the envelope with the money. "you still prefer staying stubborn, Miss Kaszowiz." He takes his time to count. "But, you really should reconsider your option. It would be so much better if you accepted our offer. The other house is even better than this half-ruined building. Reconsider it! Maybe, one day something might happen to you, and there is nobody to help you."

My angry face hides the panic, rising in my stomach at his words. I remember that last week he warned me with almost the same words. But – but –

"You know my answer, Mister Santa Gallo, and I won't change my mind no matter what you say."

He smiles like a shark.

"My dear Miss Kaszowiz," The tone of his voice is patronizing, and if he wasn't this large, and if he wasn't accompanied by these thugs, I would like to punch him for that. But, I'm not exactly like Mimi, I try to be a nice girl and keep my temper. "my dear Miss Kaszowiz, do you think the little incident last week-end, could be the worst thing to happen."

My body is already tense, and I feel cold, but I have to keep my temper. The large grins on the faces of the men behind him, aren't helping, but I prefer to look harshly at them rather than letting them see my fear. Or giving them a hint of what I'm seeing behind them. "Think about it, my dear Miss Kaszowiz, if you are too stubborn to realize your situation, then –"

Oh my god, I hadn't thought that someone could move so fast. "Then, what?" If I wasn't this tense I would have laughed at Santa Gallo's face when he feels the gun at his temple. It's mine, the one I bought on Monday. "You will arrange another little incident? You will kill her? I think not." Kenneth speaks very calmly, but his look is terrifying. Even for me, I'm convinced that he will kill this man if one of them makes a move, and so are they. Santa Gallo is swallowing. "I think that you and your men will leave this house immediately. None of you will do anything to annoy Miss Kaszowiz. If you do, you will have serious problems with me." 

"You have no fucking idea with whom you are dealing." Santa Gallo is growling, but he gives his men a sign with this head. They step back to the stair-case, then start to descend the stairs. 

Kenneth is waiting a few moments, then tells Santa Gallo, the politeness of his words contradicting the tone of his voice: "Please, would you follow them!"

"This is suicide, you know that." Santa Gallo returns, but he obeys nevertheless. Slowly they follow the others. 

When they reach the first turn, I permit myself to breathe again. My relief that Kenneth has helped me against all reason is spoiled by my shock about his sudden change and my worry what problems he may have from his interference. 

"Hey, shouldn't you follow them!" Yacko is yelling at me, making me almost jump, because I hadn't realized he came to the door. "He is so cool, I can't believe that he is a queer."

What a sudden change, didn't Yacko call Kenneth a queer first without thinking? But, he is right. We should follow them.

"How did he get the gun?" I ask when we go down the stairs. 

"I gave it to him, before he climbed over the fire escape to his own rooms. You won't believe it, but he entered by the kitchen window." 

It must have been the only open window, because of the cooking. Imagining the small window, I'm also amazed. 

Yacko happily continues his praises. Isn't it foolish what impresses teenage boys? One has to be stupid and imprudent to gain their respect. I would have been happier if I hadn't seen Kenneth' face when he put the gun against another man's head. I prefer him laughing, cooking or dancing. 

Just before we reach the ground floor, I hear the door slamming. 

"I hope I was convincing enough to scare them away." Kenneth says calmly, just his usual self, and hands me the gun. It hasn't been loaded. "I never feel good doing such things, but this sort of people has to know that they cannot come and intimate people. What are they using to blackmail you, anyway?" 

"He bought father's debts. He has a legal contract, and he can confiscate our property if we don't pay." I answer, looking from him to the gun, still stunned by his actions. He was bluffing. 

Before I have time to make any other comment, Mister Badass comes through the door. Karen, I blame myself, where did you get that word? I swallow my sigh.

"Hey, did I miss something?" He says, grinning from ear to ear. 

"No, Sam."

"But I saw these guys hanging around here before, and I thought you might need some help."

"No, Sam, everything is just fine."

"And why –" 

"Hey, I remember you." Yacko interrupts them, grinning and tugging Mister Badass's jacket from behind. "You are the 'bad' guy."

The face of this guy is so incredibly stunned that I start to laughing so hard I'm crying.

"Excellent, I see he has moved in with the right people." He smacks Kenneth on his shoulder, making him almost stumble. "All of you are really ungrateful. To laugh at the person that brings you a present." 

"I don't see anything." Yacko is gotten extremely excited by all what happened in the last half hour. 

Mister Badass smacks him too. "I thought you needed my help, of course I left it in the car. And if you have nothing to do you can always help me carry them." If he was a monkey he would be beating his chest.

Shame on yourself, Karen!

*

It was a record player that he had left in the pick-up. It was a really nice present, a record player, two boxes and two records, but I think he didn't buy it in a shop. The few hints he dropped, confirmed this suspicion of mine, and at first, I felt a little strange, having stolen things in my rooms. But then, I remembered that I had to sell our record player because of some real criminals, and I stopped feeling guilty. 

Mister Badass carried the player himself, because this was men's work. I almost died laughing when he said it. Also grinning at the pouting face of our benefactor, Kenneth and the owner of the pick-up, a very nice, but quiet man called Kay Blackhawk, were carrying the boxes. Yacko and me, we only had to take the records. I had to carry "Bill Hailey and his Comets". It sounded somewhat familiar to me. But wasn't this old music? Maybe, ten years old.

At first, we set the player in our kitchen, listening to music. Then Kenneth fried the rest of vegetables and meat for our visitors. Unfortunately, the nice Mister Blackhawk had to go very soon, and I pitied him a little, because he has a rendezvous with _the woman_. He is such a friendly man, I hope she doesn't break his heart.

Now, we are dancing since I don't know when. Or, it is better to say that, Kenneth and me, we are dancing barefoot, while Yacko is looking disgusted and undignified at our silliness. Sam is also playing the cool cat, sitting beside the record player and tapping the rhythm of the songs on his knees. But, I don't care too much about him. And I don't care about my arm either. I'm too excited to be dancing rock and roll again, because Kenneth is really brilliant at this.

Later that night, Sam proves again that he is more useful than suspected. He proposes us that we go out. Just the three of us, because underage, and by the way wounded kids have to stay home at night. Yacko has no chance to win against three adults. Calling us by the worst names he knows, he retreats to his room. I hope he stays there and doesn't go out on his own. But, this is a matter of trust, and I trust him as long as I don't surprise him. I have never spied on him.

Going out with the guys is very funny and extremely safe. The place where Sam drags us is more decent than I expected. It's been so long I almost can't remember the last time I'd gone out just for fun and not for business.

****

Author's notes: Well, well, I hope that chapter wasn't too boring. There was not so much action, more family memories.

1. Let's talk about characters: I can see that my portrayal of Karen is very different from most interpretations of Kaoru's character. Foremost, because I don't see her as always "Merry Sunshine" as most of the readers do. However, she is optimistic and she wants that everything is just fine, sometimes she can be very stubborn and a bit obsessed. That's also what Karen is in my story. Only being fine means getting back a family. That's the reason why Karen tries to revive the past relation with Shintaro. As for their conversation about "the subject", you might think that she is almost too liberal for that time as much as Maggie in chapter one. Well, that's how it looks like. At that moment, Karen is believing and means truly what she is saying because she wants to believe it. Believing doesn't automatically mean being conscious of all consequences.

As for Shintaro telling her, I have very long times meditated about that point, because I have read other scenarios in other yaoi stories. But, this story is not the classical yaoi story, and his decision was just the logical consequence of the conversations with Sam in the previous chapter.

2. Let's talk characters (II): Susanna = Suzume, Hannah = Ayame (I ignore the right order of them.), Deborah = Tsubame. 

Santa Gallo is a combination of Sengaku and the Gohei brothers. 

3. Let's talk about the family: Of course, all characters related to Shintaro's background, making a link between the world of Rurouni Kenshin and himself, are my own creation. I like to invent family stories and for that reason I created a whole genealogy for Kenshin. Taking the liberty to ignore the Seisou Hen story line and to give him and Kaoru a daughter besides their son. I understand the decision of Watsuki to give them only a son, because a son can have the skills of his father, but this is just a purely patriarchal sight of the life. I don't feel bad about changing that. I wasn't so sure if Kaoru and Kenshin would give their daughter the name Tomoe, but well -. 

I took the names Kazumi and Akane from the girls who sacrificed themselves for the little Kenshin. But, I choose Akane also because of Akane Tendo another female anime hero. Miya was a name I just liked. The old man who left Shintaro the sakabatou is Kenji. How he got that sword? I surely could find an explication for it, but it's not so important for the story. The story of Kenji and how he became a Japanese hero is another story and shall be told another time. But not by me. 

4. Let's talk about Nagasaki: I don't feel good at hundred pro cent about this, but I hope to touch the subject with the necessary subtlety. A traumatic experience is a fundamental part of Kenshin's character, and for that reason I chose this connection. It's not the only event influencing his decisions. 

To make you understand that Kumiko's try to make people speak about what happened was a real break of taboos, I will insert following citation from an internet site, dedicated to a project examining war experiences in Asia: 

"Many survivors experienced a fractured sense of identity and reality but were unable to process the bombings emotionally because of the ban on discussing them. The Japanese themselves ostracized _hibakusha_, the survivors of the bombings, who were often physically marked and regarded as unmarriageable."

I found similar information on other pages. 

5. Let's talk about photographs: Most of the photos in that chapter and in later chapters will be black and white photos, partially because they are old, partially because they are art works. Only the photo with Miya is a colored photo, because it is a symbol of the revival of Japan after the war. 

6. Let's talk about books and lifestyle (a bit extended information):

Kurt Tucholski, Schloss Gripsholm (Castle Gripsholm): The book is a fluffy, slight frivol, little story about a young couple making holiday in the mentioned castle in Sweden. The book contains allusions to experiments with hallucinogen mushrooms and a very tame allusion to a threesome between a man and two women. Remember that I wrote about Karen's grand-ma that she was bisexual. That's just another symbol for it.

Tucholski was a Jewish-German poet and essayist. He wrote chansons for cabarets and was famous for his very sharp observations of the political evolution in Germany. When the nazis took the power in Germany, he was forced to emigrate. He emigrated to Sweden, but committed suicide in exile.

He is representing in my story the climate and the lifestyle of the Berlin between the end of WWI and the beginning of the nazi regime. In that time you could find in a certain part of the society most elements reappearing during the sexual revolution in late 1960s and 1970s, and Berlin had a flourishing lesbian and gay culture. If you know the movie "Cabaret" you might have a little impression of what get lost with the upcoming of the nazis. That's the atmosphere where Karen's grand-parents lived before they emigrated to the U.S. 

By the way, Karen's grand-mother is representing assimilate Jewish families in Germany while her grand-father represents Polish Jewish tradition. 

__

Ex libris (lat.) = from the library of .../ from the book collection of ...

Anna Blum = Anna die Blume (Anna the flower): The name appears in experimental poem written by a poet called Kurt Schwitters. The style of art is called "Dada" and is also a part of the 1920s European lifestyle. (see my note about Marcel Duchamp in chap. 3.) Besides, "Dada" is considered as another source of pop-art.

"Bill Hailey and his Comets" In 1955, they had their greatest success with "Rock around the clock". That's make the little performance in the "Velvet" a tribute. (I didn't even know it when I wrote the chapters 1 & 2.) Here's a link giving information about this song: 

6. Let's talk about – ballet and Martial Arts. In someone's footnotes I read once that it is impossible to imagine Kenshin as a dancer. This might be correct for the classical ballet, but if you have some looks on Modern Ballet and compare it to Asian Martial Arts, you can find some similarities. Especially if you take the branch of Modern Ballet dedicated to the exploration of human movements and the functions of the human body. 

Besides that, in my story, I explore a rather drawn to earth idea of what "ki" is. I consider it as a form of energy inherit to every human being, expressed by the tension of the body or the charisma of a person. I got this idea from an introduction to Aikido. 

Posted first: 22-01-2003


	7. Chapter 7: All you need is Love

****

Falling in Love again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

Special thanks to fujifunmum and Pirandella

Thanks to my reviewers Firuze and Kensuyoko

Warnings for this chapter: Sex (more or less, between men), drugs (controversial matter) and Rock 'n' Roll (more or less). 

Chapter 7: All You Need Is Love 

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

I forgot that you don't know about my fighting. Sure, you have heard the stories told by my friends, they never grow tired of talking about our adventures in the past.   
Sure, other people let you know something about the more distant past. My bloody reputation transformed into an heroic legend. I know you didn't believe it at first. Later, you didn't understand why I gave up the sword.   
But, it is true, in reality, you don't know anything about my fighting, about my killing. Words fail to describe the reality of war, of every day's bloodshed. When the meaning of truth starts to fade.  


****

New York, May 16, 1965

End of the recorded conversation. Stop. Rewind. 

Henry Shatner stuffed the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray and took a new cigarette from the packet. The packet was almost empty, reminding him that he had to pass a drugstore later.

Stop.

Farrel seems to have grown quite rusty.He should have known better that the public phone near his domicile wasn't safe_. _But, to tell the truth, it had taken Shatner's men some time to recognize the conversation for what it was.

The third time since he had gotten this record the previous day, Henry Shatner put the "play"-button. The smile on his face deepening. The first part was fun.

__

"Yes." The man answering the call didn't mention any name. And without hesitation, he continued after a few seconds: _"You kept me waiting, Venus."_ The accent of his voice was British, upper class speech pattern. 

__

"How do -?" Contrary to his subordinates, Shatner hadn't any problem to recognize Farrel's voice, having heard so many recorded conversations with him.

__

"Do you want to know why I know it is you?" The other asked quite mockingly, and familiarly. 

__

"No, I don't want to –" At this, as the other times, Shatner almost laughed quietly at the alarmed tone in Farrel's voice. He didn't know that someone was able to make him loose his cool-blood so easily. 

The British voice continued furthermore_. "No one but you would be so impolite to call me after midnight."_ A dull knocking noise interrupted the mocking, replacing it by surprise. _"What was that?"_

"Nothing. I'm pretending the receiver is your head."

Shatner laughed again. The tone was annoyed, quite suffering.

__

"I cannot say that I'm surprised. Calling me in the middle of the night to insult me, that's just like you. Do you have problems in a love affair?" This time, the knocking sound was really loud, but provoked just a quiet, amused laughter. _"Always someone with a way to break your poor little heart, Venus."_

Indeed. Shatner thought of the photo Jasper Cagney had taken. It had looked like Farrel's usual entry in action. Only the other guy was quite unusual compared to former affairs.

__

"I didn't call to discuss this with you." Farrel replied, honestly pissed off. Shatner relished this rare experience. _"Remember that you made the first contact. Not me."_

His outburst was followed by silence. 

__

"And besides your fragile little heart, how are you?" The unknown voice asked finally, displaying a hint of concern.

The first reaction was more silence. 

__

"I'm fine." Shatner had a precise idea what he meant. 

__

"I'm glad to hear it. So what can I do for you?"

"I need the extended basic equipment."

That provoked a cough from the other, and Shatner felt tense. The amusing part of the conversation was over, they came to the point. 

__

"Do you know what you are asking for?"

"Of course."

"What are you planning?"

"You must be joking if you think I would discuss such things on the phone. Is one week enough to organize this?"

"It will be alright, you can come to the hotel. Do you know the number of the room?"

"Yes, you wrote it on the postcard." Like before, Shatner hissed frustrated. 

__

"Then we will meet Saturday. And make sure that nobody is following you."

"Don't take me for a fool!" 

The third time the conversation ended abruptly, leaving Shatner alone with this riddle. The unknown man must be one of Farrel's old contacts. The mention of a hotel and a postcard seemed to indicate that the man didn't live in the city, but it could also be a trap. It was also possible, that they used the room of a hotel as a meeting point. After all, a hotel could be safer than any public place as long as nobody knew about it. 

Pity that his assistants had realized too late that Farrel was speaking. Too late to find out the phone number of the hotel. It was the price to pay for directing such an unpopular department. The godfather - Shatner was very satisfied with himself to have found this name for the big boss. - didn't believe in something like organized crime. They were always short on equipment. Though, actually, as Farrel more involved, connecting with his old contacts, this case could become a proper FBI assignment. It might be easier to get legitimate new funds. 

Henry Shatner decided to write a special report to Washington. 

***

* * *

It's past midnight in the "Underground". I'm still not sure if I should have come. There is this odd feeling in my stomach, warning me of something to come. This is not good because I go too often to the bar, to get another drink.

It is not so much the place that disturbs me, despite my knowledge about the regular drug deals. Sam was right. It is a love paradise. Couples are setting in all the corners, kissing or chatting: guys with girls, girls with girls, and guys with guys of course. The ambiance is very relaxed. And as I could hear, upstairs was enough space for more action. It was like a giant private party. Even for the drinks people just put coins or dollars in a box standing at the counter of the bar. Of course, there was always someone beside it, glancing suggestively at the guests. At the moment it's a well built, extremely self-confident looking black guy. No one leaves the bar without giving something. It's very funny to observe how people react to silent menaces. 

The music is very good, too. The band changes every hour which creates a nice mixture of different styles. Actually, "Rock the cat" are reaching the end of their second performance for tonight. 

__

"One day   
I'll meet you on a dusty road ..."

Good grief! They are singing this song again. After all the events happening in the last week, I had completely forgotten to ask them about it.

__

... a stranger in this life  
What do you search ...

This time it doesn't hit me so much, this time it just awakens a dull pain. The grief is soothed by his voice, his wonderful, intense and sexy voice. Usually the words distress me, but hearing him singing them makes me feel better. Good grief, how can he keep me so easily from being angry with him longer than just a few minutes? 

Sam was the major problem this evening. Though I don't understand what is bothering him. He had asked me to come. I wouldn't have come on my own, because I was too preoccupied. In the last week, I had found too many loose ends and hints, stirring up my paranoia and feeding it. The last time this happened to me, I got involved in an affair of international concern. Very unpleasant.

No, if Mimi hadn't been so eager to go, I wouldn't have given this idea a second thought. Though, yesterday, when Thea, Karen's colleague from the club, came for a coffee with Karen, Mimi talked about her plan to have a look at this place, searching for Arthur. That's when Thea had the idea to ask her brother to give us a ride. Or rather her sister. Shawn who wants to be Sarah. It wasn't Thea's fault, that we went alone, because Mimi couldn't come. But I don't feel sorry for the girl. She doesn't fit here, oh not because of her skin color, no she just doesn't fit here because of her morality. And I hope that she never sees Arthur in his present condition. He is very strange again, this evening. Though, not high on something.

"Can't you figure out which one is the better choice?" A friendly voice is asking me, and I make an effort to keep on smiling. It seems as if Sarah had finished her tour of the room in search for someone to hit on, obviously and unfortunately without success, joining me at the bar again. It was nice as long as we talked about the restaurant she and Thea were planning. But her checking out guys is embarrassing. I have never liked to discuss other people's sex life in public. It's not the same as flirting, it's an invasion of privacy. "I know you have a violent crush for Mister Universe, but he isn't worth the trouble. I can tell you, sweetheart."

I take a deep breath. 

"When I need someone to give me advice, I'll tell you." I answer a bit sharply. "Sorry, this was rude!"

Sarah laughs: "I don't deserve better, sweetheart." I hadn't even tried to tell her how much I hate it being called that. She and Thea both do it. "You would like to have some of your choices, but what can I do? Instead of a guy, I have found something better to loosen up." When I turn to look at her, she fumbles in the pockets of her jacket. A women's jacket, besides the very good make-up, the only female attribute, but it is just perfect. Along with her manner of walking, it creates the perfect illusion of a charming young woman. She is a living performance. And now, she takes out a little sack and holds it up questioning. "Do you want a hit?"

I open my mouth to decline.

__

... And I will never forget  
how these eyes know   
to laugh, to dream, to fight, to love.

It's the last refrain, and suddenly I realize that the best part of the song has been sung, out of my perception already. I almost regret it.

Sarah tugs my sleeve, and drags me back to reality.

"It's good quality."

"No, thank you." But I weight in my mind the question if I should scrounge another cigarette from her. Like I have already done two times tonight. Though, perhaps I should buy a pack of my own. Admitting defeat.

"As you like." Sarah starts to prepare a joint for herself. Neat little dose. "You can buy everything you want here. I prefer buying here than at other places." She grins at me innocently. "I saw you there."

"Where?"

"In the _Velvet_. Last week. I never thought that Sherman would do something like that. He really surprised me. By the way, it was great, and you were better than Sherman, and I think that's the problem." She lights the joint and starts smoking. "You really don't want a toke?" 

It would feel good, I know it. "No." Distraction, distraction! "Is it common knowledge that you can buy it in the _Velvet_?" 

"Yes, but –"

"What's with the police?" Good grief, now I start to ask really stupid questions. Sarah laughs, and I deserve it. 

"They got paid, I think. I won't give these guys one single cent anyway. Thea has told me what Smiley did with her former boss." 

"What?"

"He shot him out behind his club." 

Good grief! The idea that Karen is working in this club gives me a bad chill all of sudden. Worse than what I felt before about this place. Being forced to pay protection money is after all not the same as getting straight killed. 

"What's the matter with you?" Sarah asks concerned. 

"Nothing. Would you –?" 

Grinning, she gives me the joint. Calm, calm. I take a slow draw. It's a very, very long time since I have smoked weed. After one more hit, I feel better, calmer, and I give her the joint back. I need to think.

"Who is Smiley?"

"That Irish boy. I think his name is O'Sullivan. I should like him better because of our common origin, but no way. He is always smiling, and he kills with the same expression. It's freaky." 

The nice sweet boy. Sure, I had seen him in Karen's club, the time I worked there as her temp, and if my suspicions were true, Karen's club was owned by the same people that supplied drugs to the "Velvet". I remember what Sam told me about the visitors asking for the drugs I had thrown in the toilet. It must have been a warning. People who would shoot the owner of a Jazz Club at his own place, wouldn't hesitate to kill nameless people. If the visit had been meant seriously, Sam and Arthur could be dead by now. Maybe, O'Sullivan is the one sent to deal with serious matters, like executions, while the brawlers were only good for warnings. A sick feeling emerges in my stomach. Fool! I was so a damned fool, being guided by rash decisions. Nobody fools around with such people. My instincts must have gone rusty in just two years. What I did was unprofessional. I have to be more prudent with my actions, I have to think better if I'm going to prevent something worse from happening. 

"Can you give me a cigarette?"

"No other hit."

"No, it wouldn't be wise."

"Alright, if you intend to be wise." Smiling, Sarah gives me another one of her weed-free cigarettes. "It's a shame." She says when I light it. I have kept my lighter, just for nostalgia.

"What?"

"That you waste your energy on someone like Sherman, sweetheart." By the way, they have left the stage. I realize it only now. "Believe me he is not that much fun. Not more than the ice block who doesn't stop devouring you with his eyes. If I had your choices, I would take the ice block."

"What?" 

"Sherman is good with his hands and has a lot of stamina. That's all. He lacks imagination. And surely, you won't have him your way, because he is convinced he is the ultimate alpha." Good grief! I'm sure my face is bright red now. "I think, even more than the "Velvet", he considers this place his private territory. I think he has misjudged the effect you would have here. And besides, yesterday –"

"Believe me, I don't want to hear it."

"Sorry, sweetheart!" Sarah is looking a little bit hurt. Then she shrugs, a glint in her eyes. "You are hopeless, sweetheart, you really like this guy."

"Are you jealous?"

"Oh hell, yes, but not of him." Good grief! It must be the weed, my brain is working in slow motion. "It's really a shame, but that's life. Don't be sorry for me."

She leaves me. A real life performance, playing the flirt and suffering the rebuff afterwards, saving face in great way. It's a pity that I have no weakness for drag queens. 

Sighing, I decide to profit from the generous open bar one more time. That's when a new tune is starting, making me turn in amazement. I hadn't seen that Arthur had come back from the short break. Thus I'm surprised, when the music starts again. Piano and trumpet. Free style Jazz, it sounds somewhat rusty, smooth and edgy at the same time, very, very beautiful. Arthur is sitting at the piano now. The trumpet is played by a black guy with the a scarred face. Sipping the new drink and finishing my cigarette, I go back to my solitary spot or seat outside of the general melee. Drowning in the flow of bittersweet memories of nights passed in the weirdest Jazz Clubs in Paris. A few years ago, the bitterness would have been stronger than the sweetness, but the time and my own changes made a difference. 

But, despite the music, I'm still feeling this dreadful tingling in my stomach. I shouldn't have come tonight. 

"Can you give me a light?" A gloved hand is touching my underarm, almost making me jump. The question takes me off guard, I haven't realized the man was standing beside me. 

"Pardon?" Slowly, I turn to face him.

"A light? Can you give it to me?" 

"Sure, I'm sorry." 

I light the expensive smelling cigarette for him. The man seems only a few years older than me. And he doesn't fit at all in this place. His white suit is impeccable, even the gloves, and it must have cost him a fortune. Although, he is not extraordinary good-looking, he makes a good impression, and his smile is charming. He tries it with me, holding one of my hands longer than necessary. Internally sighing, I draw it back. 

"Do you come here often?" He starts small talking before I can turn away. 

"No."

"Are you here alone?" 

This time, I'm really sighing, before I answer. "No, and I have already an engagement."

"That's a pity. Maybe another time?"

"I don't -"

Before I can finish my phrase and leave this guy, Sam comes between us, swirling me around.

"Don't hit on my boyfriend!" He snaps at this guy and kisses me.

__

What? His hands are gripping my ass, possessively. And I feel people looking at us. Something in my ears starts ringing, like a high pitched whistle. _What did he just say?_ When his tongue slips between my lips, I bite him, pushing him away. Then, using his surprise, I clutch his jacket and draw him outside, to the elevator. 

"What the fuck?" His speech is indistinct, because he has to wipe his mouth. 

"That's my line." His pride hurt, Sam is not open for dry jokes and opens his mouth for a violent reply. "Don't you ever do that again!" 

"Since when are you a prude, darling?"

"Don't _darling_ me. Don't you dare make me a part of your performance, just to show off."

"You needed my fucking help, ungrateful bastard." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"That guy was Kane," I freeze. This is a good reason, even if Sam could have chosen another way to warn me. "and even Arthur was anxious. But you couldn't see it. You've been so busy, flirting with this asshole. Like you did the whole evening."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play the innocent with me! Don't think I hadn't noticed how you watched Arthur. How you flirted with half of the guys here."

He is jealous, but not in the cute way like the other times. He is just acting like a possessive asshole. How annoying! 

"Don't even try it, Sam. Don't even try to play the jealous husband with me. You could have warned me in another way without making such a show of it." 

Suddenly, I'm tired. Too much alcohol is rushing through my blood, I have inhaled too much weed, there had been too much noise in the club. Now, as we are standing alone in the dim light, the silence falls down on me like a heavy weight. I'm not in the mood for such a stupid argument. I know I have overreacted, because of my general frustration. It shouldn't have affected me so much. Sam isn't able to play painful little power games. Whatever was and is motivating him it's definitively not the wish to humiliate me deliberately.

I'm just opening my mouth to excuse myself, when Sam is saying with annoyance: "You need this, isn't it?"

"What?" 

"The attention, the looks – you like to attract them like moths with your every move, this slutty smile of yours. I didn't see you reacting to the other guys before, but I should have known. The first impression is always the right impression."

It's so stupid. I've heard this so often, so often that for a while I believed it, but now even the hurt from this offense has vanished. It just annoys me, because it makes dealing with other guys so difficult. Reminding me why I have to keep my distance.

"And what is your conclusion, then. It was you who started to hit on me. Have you already forgotten? It's not my problem that you have grown paranoid because you are used pissing on every tree, just to mark your territory." I don't feel good insulting him like that. Maybe it's unfair, but I'm not in the mood to be indulgent. Not when someone I started to like brings up such stupid ideas and calls me a slut.

"Don't fuck around with me!" 

"No? Isn't it what you wanted?" This time I accompany the question with a special version of my usual smile. "I remember other things that you are not denying. But I'm such an evil seducer. How could you resist?"

Panic. Hidden behind aggression and bluntness I can see it rise in his eyes. Pure panic as if I could do something horrible to him if he lets his guard down for a moment. And because I see it, I don't even try to defend myself when he shoves me against the elevator door. The impact knocks the air out of me, though, and it hurts, but I've gotten worse. 

"Don't fuck around with me, I told you." 

"If not what? Will you rip off my clothes and do me right here? Will you _kill_ me?" Never leaving his eyes for a blink, I'm feeling like the snake hypnotizing the rabbit. A very aggressive rabbit, though. His hand pressing my throat doesn't scare me so much. I consider hitting him with my knee, and a few more options on how to get rid of this attack. However, I drop all these ideas quickly, seeing no use for it. And it wouldn't be fun either. It's not fun at all to have a true glance behind his mask. Something hurt him very deeply, turning a part of his self into self-hatred what he projects on other people, and, obviously, he isn't ready to deal with this, or even to see it. "Sam, why are you so damned scared?"

"I'm not – You asshole!" He has no problem hurting me. With his free hand he gives me a punch in the stomach, almost making my legs falter. I'm dizzy for a few seconds. Normally, I know a lot ways to defend myself. Only brutal force is more difficult to parry. Struggling for breath, I hold my stomach when he lets me go. Luckily, I manage staying upright. "Don't fool around with me? Do you understand? And don't treat me like a brat."

"But you are behaving like one, Sam." My voice is steady enough to speak. "I don't know what came over you all of sudden. I don't know what your first impression was of me. You hit on me, remember. You have hit on most of the guys here, but this is your problem not mine. You are used picking up guys casually, don't tell me what I have to do." 

Sam tries to stare me down with angry eyes, but he isn't really good at this. He opens his mouth, closes his hands into fists. I can't understand what is threatening him, and he is obviously not ready to let me know. Finally, he takes a deep breath. "Just fuck it!" 

Leaning against the wooden panels behind me, I watch him leave. This is definitively not my night.

*

It's gotten cooler outside. I'm feeling a little better, when I have reached the Broadway intersection. Walking, crossing people, watching cars and feeling the familiar shadow of this private detective somewhere behind me, everything provides me with distraction and I'm grateful for it. 

Seeing the bus pass the station on the other side of Broadway, I think it would be best to go home. Though, I don't like to retreat from a difficult situation. Most of the time, it makes everything worse. I have really no idea what Sam's problem is. Maybe, he has realized what even Sarah has seen, that while watching him move like God's gift to mankind, or hearing his voice, I want him so badly that I don't feel like myself. Losing all control over my libido. Maybe, he is irritated by the idea of being an object of desire. Though there is no damned reason to panic, or to get aggressive over this. _He_ is the most irresistible person I have met in the last few years. It scares _me_, but it is better than the idea of being alone all time.

Slowly, I turn back in the to Broome Street, flashing my shadow a bright smile. Though, I'm not sure if he can see it, with only the street lights shining on the street. Seeing me return, he stops as if lighting a cigarette. But, when I've gone past him, he follows me at his usual distance. I don't know if he is aware that none of his movements are a mystery to me. Maybe he knows, but doesn't care at all. Maybe he thinks following me is enough effort. Perhaps, he is pissed off at his boss, this funny blonde guy, who I always greet with my best smile since the day I visited his office. Whenever I get my equipment, I will have a look at this office, just to verify some of my suspicions. And a few other ones, concerning Karen's house. Yesterday, when she was working, and Sam was playing at the "Velvet", I used the time to do some investigating. Some of what I found out was amusing. Some was unpleasant.

A familiar sound interrupts my thinking, the sound of an old, hick-up shaking motor. Stopping, rather freezing, I see Arthur's car passing. I notice two unknown black guys in the car. That's strange. And considering what they might be using the car for, I don't like the looks of it. 

They park it right in front of the warehouse where the "Underground" is, and I can hear them discussing, when I retrace my steps. Both of them, a little, skinny guy and a big, fat guy, they look very odd, like a couple of cartoon characters. Unfortunately, they are too far away for me to hear any details of their argument, but I see them getting something out of the trunk. Finally, they disappear behind the club before I can reach them.

Thus I forget my frustration immediately, my curiosity is stirred up. I have to know what's going on. 

*

Contrary to my first suspicion, I found no trace of them in the lower parts of the warehouse, nor in the "Underground". When I had a look in the crowded room, I only saw that Arthur and the guy with the trumpet were still playing music, Sarah was talking with Sam at the bar. And it looked like they were having a drinking contest. Not seeing the guys, I decided that they must be upstairs.

Indecent, Sam had called the upstairs rooms, and I grin grimly when I see it, because he is right from a very general point of view. It looks just like another, dirtier version of the cavernous room on the other floor, with curtains creating only temporary divisions. The light is dimmer than downstairs, the couches and random mattresses are more shabby, the noises are – well, definitively sex related. I have never been in such a room, but I already think it's better than a public lavatory or a park, and cheaper than a motel. The main difference between this room and the other one is that a wall separates a third of it from the rest. I think that's where Sam and Arthur live, and maybe, it's also the unofficial headquarters of the secret business. 

I'm right, though. I'm a lucky fool. When I open the door and follow the little corridor, I can hear voices. Having no other plan than just finding out some details about their business, I stay in the corridor. 

For a while, I don't hear anything. The men in the room are silent. Peeping around the corner, I see three man at a kitchen table. The small, skinny guy is sitting facing the door, but he is too agitated to be alert. His hands are playing nervously with a little paper. The fat man looks at him, then at the third guy, then at something or someone I can't see. He also seems worried, if not nervous.

The third man is the guy I have seen before, watching the bar. He is not as interesting as his gun, lying on the table. Two cardboard boxes and piles of money are also on that table. Looks as if they have just begun to split the cash up. 

"What shall we do if they try the same thing with us?" The fat guy is asking finally, sounding really worried. 

"Don't talk like that! If you haven't got the guts to continue, you'll just have to pay your debts. You owe me for the little bribes you take from my properties." Coming from a corner I can't see it's a voice I recognize. It's Kane's.

"Don't pick on him! He knows the risk, but finding this mess hasn't been nice." The small guy answers hastily. His voice is very husky, revealing urgent needs. 

"Good. We have an agreement, then."

"We should tell Arthur about these dead guys." It's the fat guy again. 

"Do whatever you want! Leave the money to him, too! And ... guys, before I forget it, you shouldn't make errors in the counting. Don't think I didn't realize it the last time!" 

The voice that flirted so charmingly with me sounds very cold, nobody to fool with. Out of the blue, a thought crosses my mind, hitting me almost physically. I know that voice, and the memories it reveals cover my skin with cold sweat. Only this feeling is irrational, because Kane doesn't look at all like this man, even if he is in the same business as the other. Maybe, it's just a similar character that creates this resemblance. Besides, I'm very sure that I've killed the other one, I remember his blood in my face. Quickly I try to chase away the sensation, burned in my memory. 

Unfortunately, distraction is already the first step of failure. Footsteps reach the door very quickly and I find myself face with a very startled Kane. I blink, he blinks. I tense, he smiles. He shouldn't, though. His amusement gives me enough time to raise my hand quickly, hitting a certain spot on his neck. Unfortunately, he makes a small sound, when he collapses, the flow of his blood interrupted. 

"What the fuck - ?" 

Two pairs of eyes turn to look at me. The third guy is too occupied making a line of white powder and sniffing it quickly. The two others are not that preoccupied, and they have guns. I see the second gun only now, when the fat guy moves a bit. I don't like guns, they make fights more complicated, especially when I have no adequate weapon. 

If I make a dash to the other rooms, other people could get involved, people who are filled up with alcohol or whatever, and would not be able to react quickly. Someone might get hurt in the process. Without thinking, my right hand slides into the pocket of my jacket touching my knife, inwardly cursing that Sam had wanted the chain back.

"Who the fuck you are, girly?" 

They don't expect me to answer, I see it in their eyes as they are getting up. Choosing not to shoot me, but putting his gun in his pocket, one of the armed men lunges forward against me. Out of nowhere, a knife is appearing in his hand. No problem then! Using the difference in height to slip away beneath his arm when he reaches the door, and pushing my elbow in his back, I throw myself on the other one. The sound of a body crashing into the corridor wall is music to my ears. The fat man is too surprised to react fast enough, when I take his right wrist and twist his right arm behind his back, drawing him down with this movement. Taking the gun from his holster, I take roll away, just before the bullet from the door hits the ground. Of course, they use a silencer with their guns. Rolling under the table, I tip over the chair where the third guy is still sitting, too lazy and incoherent to be any help for the others. The shocked cry of the guy is cut short by the dreadful noise of a head knocking the ground. I take a glance at him, while I'm crawling from beneath the table. No sign of life! Fuck! I have no time to get upset, because the first guy is coming around the table, the other one is just getting up. 

Two more seconds, time enough release the safety on the gun and take it in my left hand. 

"What now?" I ask when the other guy is aiming at my head, I'm aiming below his belt. Not very delicate, but nonetheless deadly, if he forces me to shoot. I don't want to do this. I'm not even sure if I can, but he will never know that if I keep my deadly glare. Usually, it works as successfully as my smile does the other way. "Will you tell your friend, that he should stay on the other side of the table! If not, we both will make a mess of this poor kitchen. Imagine all this blood on the floor. I'm not sure that Arthur will appreciate it." He curls his lips in a disgusted smile, but nods his head. I can hear the footsteps on the other side of the table come to a stop. "Good boy."

Now, he snarls, the smile becoming even more disgusting. He looks very disappointed that he was played out by a "girly". "Who are you?" He asks again. 

"Just a guest." 

The slightly pained sound of Kane regaining consciousness interrupts further questioning, distracting my enemy enough that I can push myself up with my right hand. Hitting him with the gun between his legs, I charge, using his own weight and the shock of my punch to throw him down. He crashes into the fallen chair, breaking it to pieces. I'm not very careful when I knock him out. I hear his gun rattling over the floor. Though, when I lift my head, I see a foot stopping it, a foot wearing an extraordinarily expensive shoe. 

No time to think about it, because I can feel rather than see the danger behind me. Spinning I dodge the blow and the knife just at the right time, then I take a step back to have more space. Glancing shortly at Kane who slowly picks up the gun, I know I have no time to wait for the attack, lacking the space and the right weapons. 

This time the fat guy senses what I'm trying to do. He evades, and a punch in my stomach sends me flying over the table, taking the all money with me. I'm lucky that he doesn't really know Martial Arts, because he could have used my fall to his advantage. While it is still raining coins on the floor, I come down on my feet before he can get around the table, but I have lost the gun. A metallic taste is filling my mouth, my own blood, but I can't do anything about it because the fat guy is approaching fast. Something is hitting my shoulder, but I don't care. Having two free hands now is enough to flip my enemy over, making him crash in the wall, once more using his own weight. It's even better that he is this big and fat. Balance, or out of balance. It's like a dance. Ending abruptly when something hard hits my head. 

*

My head is throbbing, wrapped in ice. My stomach is cold, too, freezing cold. Icy water drips along my hips, down to where I'm lying, gathering there in a cold pool. My fingers touch cotton. Must been someone's bed. It smells somewhat nice, comforting. Comforting like the calm fingers working on my shoulder. But, the cold water gathering everywhere underneath my body is not so comfortable. When I try to move, a sudden pain radiates from my shoulder, and from my head. 

"Wait a moment!" A quiet voice says. In this strange subspace where I'm wavering, I find no face to connect with this voice and these hands. But they feel good against my skin. Only the ache in my head reduces the good feeling, making me grimace. I reach out with my free hand, touching cotton even there. Must be a bandage. "It's only fair. Considering what you did to Binky?"

"Who the – who is Binky?" 

"It's only a pet name, but maybe you remember that you made him fall out of his chair. He hit his head very badly." 

The gentle hands leave my shoulder alone, also bandaged. I regret the loss of their touch, while I'm trying to focus my thoughts. They are somewhat hazy, and thinking hard makes my head ache again. A chair? A guy I made fall off a chair? My eyes snap open, the memories of the short fight coming back to me. Now I'm lying on someone's bed, shirt open and hair down. It must be Arthur's bed, because he is sitting at my side. His gaze is very clear. But, I don't like this. Awakening in a strange bed without knowing how I got there. 

I'm feeling the cold again. Glancing down at my abdomen, I see a towel, obviously filled with melting ice, and a nasty looking bruise. As usual it looks worse than it feels. That's why I shove the towel away, sitting up to escape the cold patch at my back. The pain makes me bite my lips, blurring my vision for a moment. 

"You should not get up yet." Arthur says calmly, my stare meeting his eyes. Then he reaches to the place where my head had been, and takes the second towel placed there. "It's already melted. I'll get some new ice for your head." 

He leaves me alone. Alone in his room. Now, that my vision is a bit clearer, I look around. Besides the bed, he has a wardrobe near the window, bookshelves, a desk and the necessary chairs, but this is not the point. This is not why I have to smile after a few minutes. Arthur has a taste for extraordinary sensual colors and forms. Kind of Art Nouveau, like I have seen it in Paris. Very fin de siècle. The irony that such a stylish room is set in a warehouse is amusing. 

And the pictures, some photos, some reproductions. Good grief! With my numb fingers, I start buttoning my shirt. My cheeks are burning, caused by a sudden embarrassment about the former exposure. Conscious or subconscious, I've never seen a room that revealed the sexual inclinations of its owner so openly. His love for beautiful things. 

There is one picture of Mimi. Though, only someone who knew her would recognize her, because the photo has been taken from behind her shoulder, while she was playing trumpet. It's no work of art, but very good nevertheless. The trumpet reflects the light coming from the same direction as the camera, her hands and arms seeming to glow in this light. Though, I believe she would be embarrassed if she knew in what company her picture was hanging. One of them catches my eyes. It looks kind of familiar. Highly esthetical, but, well - The back of a naked man, lying on his side, just from the rear end to the neck where a lazy hand, serving as a pillow, is playing with the hair. I stand up to have a look, and then, with my hand at the my back head, I feel the ground breaking away under my feet. The physical ache is nothing in comparison to the shock caused by the signature on the picture. "Richard Orwell" plus the Chinese character for "dragon". My other hand reaches out for the chain under my shirt. 

"You see, I've known it was you for a very long time." Arthur's voice makes me almost jump. "I bought it when I saw the exhibition." Oh yes, I remember it now. We had such a violent fight because of this photo and Rick's wish to put it in the New York Exhibition. I was so pissed off, that I almost broke up with him. But my gratitude and my love made me forgive him. And now, even dead, he has trapped me. "When Maggie showed me that picture with the kite, I was very surprised that she knows you." 

"The ice is melting." I interrupt Arthur brusquely. 

"Oh, sorry." He hands me the dripping towel, then sits down on the bed. His whole body seems very strained, as if he is forcing himself to stay upright. 

Since the room had started spinning around me, when I got angry, I sit down beside him, holding the icy towel against my head. After a while I feel worse and I have to lay down again. It doesn't matter anymore that the bed is still wet. He was right, I shouldn't have stood up. The ice isn't helpful at all, and it is half melted anyway. I push it away, and Arthur takes it. 

"Do you have something for a headache?" My voice sounds damned weak, but, fortunately, not whining. 

"Of course." This time, he doesn't let me wait more than a minute, before he comes back with a glass of water and some aspirin. 

"Thanks." I close my eyes, when I have taken it. Something is wrong with me. "How long was I passed out?"

"Forty minutes."

Good Grief!

"What's with these guys?"

"They are gone. All of them."

That means the Binky-guy is alive. For a moment, I'm endlessly relieved.

"What happened exactly?"

"I don't know everything. When I came in, Kane was hitting you with a part of the broken chair. It was him who shot you, too." 

His look turns very odd while I'm touching my shoulder. It had been a bullet then, that hit me there?

"Where is he anyway?"

"Gone." 

Arthur scrutinizes my face, as if deciphering a mystery. I don't question him about the cardboard boxes and their contents. That's for later. First, I'm kind of glad that they didn't kill me as a witness to their deal.

"What's with the bullet?"

"Don't worry! It's out. I have some basic knowledge of these things." 

The idea, that he has removed the bullet out of my body on his own, without the help of a doctor, is disturbing, but not too much. Though, remembering the dizziness when I woke up I can't do anything against the panic. A quickly rising panic.

"What did you give me?"

"Morphine. I'm sorry, I didn't have anything else." 

Fuck! I force myself to breathe calmer, panic is fast replaced by anger, then fury. Reaching out with my unhurt arm, I clutch his shirt and draw him a bit nearer, forcing him to look in my eyes.

"Never do that again, Arthur! If you ever put some chemical in my blood again without my permission, I don't know what I might do to you. Do you understand me?" 

"Yes," He says softly, laying his hand at my throat. The nearness is growing uncomfortable all of sudden. "and if you ever stick your nose into this affair again, or if you do something that might put the others in trouble, I will kill you for sure. Do you understand me?" _The others_ must be these guys that I fought. The deadly expression in the blue eyes tells me that he's not bluffing. He would do it without a second's hesitation. The musician hides the killer. Why am I not surprised? "Do you understand?"

There is still calm in his voice and in his eyes. But I can feel some fractures in the icy surface, almost revealing something of his soul, like the slight trembling of his hand. Maybe, if I pushed enough, the ice would break completely, and I could reach him.

"Yes, I understand, but I can't promise you anything." 

"That's what Kane said, that's why he wanted to finish you off. Do you know him?" 

"No, I have never seen him before tonight."

"He seems to know you." Arthur lets go of my throat, raising his upper body. The growing distance helps me to slow my breathing, permitting me to concentrate better. "He speaks very familiarly about you." 

Shaking my head, I fight back my confusion. Admittedly, his voice reminded me of something dreadful, but speaking of it is out of the question. I find the idea absurd. Arthur gives no other hint. "You should just stop doing this shit." The words leave my mouth before I can prevent it. "Everything would be better if you stopped this."

"It's impossible. It's too late." 

Stubborn, stubborn man. The adrenaline rush caused by my anger is as helpful as the aspirin to chase away my headache. 

"But we are speaking about drug dealing, Arthur."

"So what? "

I grip his arm harshly, almost satisfied when I see a slight pained expression flash over his face. "You are killing people with this. Profiting from their death. But, -"

"Stop preaching!"

"Don't interrupt me!" What a jerk! "But, not only that. You make them victims for the cops. They hunt the junkies, not the dealers. Do you know how police raids are? Do you know how a billyclub fucking hurts when it hits the crotch? Maybe, you can buy yourself a safe place here, without the danger of police raids, or your boss does it for you, but not everyone can do this." 

"Don't lecture me." His voice is like icy water splashing in my face. "I know that, but there is nothing you can do about it. Fighting it is useless and burns you out."

A deeper breath is calming me a bit. Finally, we reach the point.

"Is that what made you so miserable? The useless fights?" 

"Don't you dare to pity me!" Touché! Now, the ice is breaking. "I don't need your pity. I've found the remedy for it."

"Oblivion." Of course, I'm right. Wincing inwardly, I keep on looking at his strained face. 

"I never felt so good in my whole life. It's a pure feeling, and it has so many shades." Pure? Shades? Fuck! He is such a fool, such a damned idiot. I can almost picture him, analyzing the effects of the different drugs, writing them in a little notebook. Though, I keep staring at him. Arthur is paler now than before. The outburst of emotions seems to have taken something from his force. "I never felt so whole before."

"It isn't real, Arthur." 

My voice sounds very strange to me as I'm risking sitting up again. 

"No, something I can feel so deeply in my body, it must be real." 

There is no doubt that he truly believes the shit he is puking out. But I'm not ready to admit defeat, yet, and I do the only thing I can think of. 

I kiss him that he must feel it in every damned inch of his body. 

This was not meant to happen. Well, in a screwed up part of my brain where I have carefully locked all my wild and crazy fantasies, I wanted to do this since I saw him first. This and more. But, at this moment, anger and frustration are far stronger motivation than desire. Anger about his stubborn starved feelings and frustration because the rational part of myself knows that I have no chance to win this fight so easily. 

"This is reality, Arthur. Do you feel it?"

He nods with closed eyes.

Drawing him down with me, I take my time to drive him crazy and needy with lips and tongue and teeth. Maybe, I would have hesitated if I had met any resistance, but meeting shy, but open acceptance is almost too much encouragement. The screwed up part of my brain takes over the rest, pushing me deeply into frenzy and hunger, throbbing through my whole body, especially one part of it. When I can feel the effects of my ministrations on him, I flip him over. Not easily, because of the condition of my body, but I fight back the pain. 

"This is true pleasure." I whisper against his mouth, the hand of my unhurt arm wandering between his legs. "Do you feel it?" 

The body beneath me is shuddering, and the lips close to my lips start to give back what they had received from me. When I stroke him gently, the hands that have clutched the sheets slide under my still loose shirt. They remain on my back, barely touching my skin, as if Arthur was scared to dirty me. Their trembling feels like fluttering wings. 

Ignoring the flash of pain from my shoulder, I raise myself on this arm, looking into his face. It's covered with sweat. The blue eyes are feverish struck between pleasure and struggling. There must be a way to make the struggling disappear, to let pleasure, real pleasure overwhelm them. 

"Do you want more?"

"Yes."

I even manage to smile at him, when I'm crawling downwards between his legs.

*

A bitter taste fills my mouth, and it has nothing to do with what I have swallowed. It's the taste of defeat, of truth and reason. Whatever took me in that moment of heat, it is gone now. Everything is worse than before.

Arthur is shattered. His chattering teeth, the terrible paleness of his skin, and more sweat, cold sweat, are telling me what fool I was. I should have known it better. If sex was a remedy against this starving, nobody would be drug addicted. And some other things are very clear now. It's not only LSD or Cocaine that he needs. Perhaps, he just uses Cocaine as a substitute. Morphine – that must be it. Perhaps, the lack of the real thing made him take the dangerous mixture last week. 

"Where is it?" It must be my voice who is asking that, while I'm putting his clothes back on. 

"I left it in the kitchen." 

The relief in his voice is like a slap in the face. Though my body is an obedient machine as it walks to the kitchen, takes the box standing on the table. It almost looks like the box where I keep my private documents and photos. Returning to his room and sitting down at the edge of the bed, I open the box. As I would expect from Arthur, everything is clean and neat. A glance at his hands reveals to me that he isn't able to do anything useful with them, he would rather hurt himself. 

"Wait, I can do it!" Pushing himself up on his side, he reaches out with the other hand, laying it on my arm. Not a fluttering wing anymore, rather a cold fish. I start to prepare everything for him. Ignoring his attempt to shake my arm until the fish slides away from it, and Arthur rolls on his back. I'm so glad that my hair hides the most of my face, that he doesn't see me biting my lip until I taste blood. "It's not the same. I'm sorry, but it's not the same feeling. And you –" Almost feverish whispers reach my ear. 

"Be quiet!"

Ready. Take a breath. My own hands are shaking, and I fist them for a moment. Ready.

It's quickly done, and after a few seconds of waiting, the peaceful serenity replacing the former struggle reassures me that I hadn't put worse shit in his vein. I would like to know if he also looked like that when I made him come. Probably not. 

"Thank you!"

"Don't bother!" I'm almost laughing, cleaning up the syringe and putting everything back. Then I stand up and set the box on his desk. My jacket and my beret are lying neatly folded on the chair in front of the desk. The jacket is damaged by the bullet hole and by blood. I'm not sure if I can repair it. Shrugging I put it on, before pulling out a tie. I don't bother with my hair, just tying it together at the nape of neck, then putting on the cap to cover the bandage as good as I can. "Arthur?" Turning back to the bed, I see him open his eyes. He has difficulty focusing his gaze. "I will leave now."

"I love you."

He smiles. I don't answer.

Turning off the light and closing the door from outside, I'm feeling like a murderer. My hands are shaking again, but my feet are obeying when I force them to leave the apartment, ignoring the newly growing ache in my head and the desire to throw up. I barely realize where I'm walking. Straight through the dark room, down the stairs. Melting with the noise of the party. I see Sam, sitting at the bar, on the way to an alcoholic collapse. No chance to get anything useful from him, and by the way - It's a bit more difficult to see Sarah, but then I notice her involved in something that looks like foreplay. It would be a shame to disturb her fun. 

Somehow, my vision growing more and more blurred, my stomach revolting and bile rising in my throat, I reach the ground floor. My legs feeling very wobbly, I sit down on the last stair. Just a few minutes! Just a few min-

"Hey, what's the matter with you?" It's Kay, quite sober, ready to leave. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble."

"No, come on!" He helps me up. Maybe he thinks I'm drunk. But on the way to his car he gets a clearer impression of my condition. "You are hurt. Maybe, I should –"

"No," No hospital. I know it's stubborn, but they would find out a lot more things than I want other people to know. "home is just fine." 

Settling down on the passenger seat of his pick-up is a great relief. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back as well as I can with the wound there. The movement of the car feels comfortable, gentle swaying. And Kay has a very calm manner of driving. That is not surprising, him being a calm man anyway. 

"What happened?" He asks after a while.

Opening my eyes, trying to focus my vision, I tell him the truth. Not everything of course, just the fight with Kane's men. I feel better afterwards, and he should know a lot about these affairs anyway. 

"It's an awkward situation." He answers as calm as ever, but I realize that his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "I have thought about this so often, and about a way to get rid of this bunch. It's the same for the "Velvet", but there Arthur can only choose between paying or dying. It's a different league." He only confirms what Sarah told me. "But, Kane – I have even thought about killing that guy." Another guy speaking very calmly about killing people, but I don't make any comment. He is the only one of them who seems to take this problem seriously. "But, I like this place too much. It's a nice little utopia of immorality, precious in my eyes." His choice of words makes me smile, despite the hammering in my head. A utopia of immorality – this sounds very neat to me. And I understand why Sam likes this guy so much, and I know what keeps him and Maggie together. "For that reason, I don't want the police raiding it. I haven't found a solution yet, to end this and to keep the police away. And, none of us has enough money to buy us out. It's a high price for freedom, but sometimes you can't take it for granted."

Reflecting on such complicated problems is too tiring at the moment. As much as I try, I cannot really concentrate. I close my eyes again, dozing in a strange world between consciousness and black holes. It would be nice just to fall in into those holes.

Sometime later, a hand is shaking my shoulder, and I notice that I have fallen asleep. A few minutes are necessary to get my wits together and recognize Kay Blackhawk. He looks very worried, then smiles. 

"I thought you had blacked out." He lets out a breath, somewhat relieved. "We are arrived. Do you think that you are able to climb the stairs?"

"Yes, no problem." I answer, feeling a bit better.

Getting out of the car and finally crossing the road. I manage everything without collapsing to the ground. 

"Do you know that someone is following you?" He asks me, when we have entered the house, and I'm surprised that he has noticed it.

"Yes. It's a private detective."

"Do you want me to find out something about him?"

Even in my condition, I almost laugh. Subconsciously, he has revealed a lot of things to me with just one phrase. He is used to finding out about people following him, and he has the sources to do it. But I don't ask him, maybe another time when I feel better. I just tell him that I can make it the rest of the way alone, but I need some time before I can really convince him.

"Okay, have it your way. I will tell Maggie to look after you tomorrow." Obviously, he had been on the way to see her, before he found me at the stairs. He is grinning and a bit embarrassed, when I look at him, as if he knows what I'm thinking. "Mister Techaco is an extremely liberal for a father." He states. "I mean, he doesn't say anything when I come to see her in the middle of the night."

"She is twenty-two."

"Yes, but it is very special." 

He is right anyway, and thinking about this man reminds me of something else. 

"Could I ask you a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Can you ask him for Apomorphine?" 

"What's this?"

"A medication."

It's only half a lie, and he shrugs. Kay departs and I start to make my way to the Karen's floor. It is not as easy as I thought, but remembering one of the things I found out yesterday distracts me from my headache. The solution to the riddle of why Yacko sometimes doesn't hear the phone when someone is calling in the night. Why it is never really difficult to convince him that he had to stay home at night. And what a fine way he had found to impress the other kids. Where could you find a better place to create secret hiding place than in a house with empty apartments. The only thing bothering me a bit, is what to do with the electrical stuff his little gang has stored in their place. But well, I admit that these things don't prevent me from sleeping. 

Luckily, I reach my rooms without any problem. Though, I can not lie to myself. Something is really wrong with my head, and I'm glad to know that Maggie will come to see me. 

I'm too tired to transform my couch in a proper bed, too tired to take off my clothes. Just laying down and sleep that is the best. I really feel like shit, and not only because of the throbbing pain in my head. 

No, tonight was not my night.

****

Author's notes: Well, sigh, well. Are you still there? I hadn't planned this to happen, but now, it is done, and they have to deal with it. 

1. Let's talk about the hero! Okay, here he does things the original would never do. Kenshin is a straight (or at the limit bisexual) 19th century swordsman, raised by an arrogant master, hired as an assassin because of his extraordinary fighting skills. Shintaro is a "20th Century's Boy", a dancer, gay and raised by a woman. These different biographies make them sometimes two very different persons, even when they have a similar personality. I have realized while writing the story that every person becomes very different in another background. That's why Alternate Universes are very delicate as fanfiction. 

However, Shintaro is based on Kenshin's character for many aspects of his personality. The principal common thread is passion, or compassion. Kenshin might hide it behind a polite appearance, or the efficiency of an assassin, but when he makes decisions they are mostly caused or influenced by his compassion for other people. Besides, I have my own special theory about Kenshin being a sort of catalyst for other people, because in his fights he always tries to reach something inside them. That's what the speeches are for. For Shintaro, I tried to keep these fundamental aspects. He is passionate, and most of time, tries to hide it, because it gets him into trouble. As you could see it in this chapter. 

Since this story is not a story about invincible warriors, I put some of the conflicts on a psychological level. That's why my heroes have sometimes quite unusual ways to fight. 

A third aspect of the character is that, after my opinion, Kenshin as the Battousai is very often a projection of his enemy. By that, I mean that his enemies are fighting him because of his reputation, believe they know what kind of person he is, just because they believe they know who Battousai is. This is something I kept for my hero, but he is an object of other people's projection rather because of his appearance. 

By the way, the person calling him "Venus" on the phone is the same who called him "princess" on the post card. I changed this fact in chapter 4. 

2. Let's talk characters (II)!: No comments about Sam and Arthur in this chapter. Thomas Kane is Takeda Kanryuu. Binky and Co. are the Oniwabanshu. And, yes, I'm aware that Binky is the name of Dead's horse in Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels. I kept it nevertheless, because I think it's a funny nickname for a small man. I made them black, because Mimi is, and it isn't my intention to promote the idea that dealing drugs is only related to black people. My story contains a lot of drug dealers, and most of them are white, or multicolor.

3. Let's talk characters (III)! WTF is Richard? He is one more original character, but the last important one I introduce by the way. He is an original character, because he can't be Okita. In the chapter that reveals more of his background, I will give you an explanation for that statement. 

4. Let's talk drugs: The signs of physical addiction Arthur is manifesting in this chapter are typical of addiction to opiates (Opium, Morphine or Heroin). Normally, they start 36 hours after the last dose, but I made the time lapse a bit shorter. I think it is natural that exhaustion might provoke a faster downfall. As mentioned, cocaine is sometimes used as a substitute. 

The difference between hard drugs and weed/marijuana: Of course, I consider marijuana a drug, as much as nicotine and alcohol and everything other (normal) people can be addicted to. Marijuana becomes dangerous like alcohol when one is smoking it regularly. The effects of constant marijuana consumption are similar to the effects of alcohol abuse. And, I think, in the same way as someone can become addicted to alcohol he can become addicted to marijuana, but not automatically. It's a question of a persons general disposition. However, in the U.S., dealing marijuana is forbidden since 1923. 

I took care to study the drug problems very carefully, but I used mostly German sites. That's why I don't post them. What Apomorphine is will be explained in later chapters.

"They hunt the junkies not the dealers." - I've found different sources writing about that problem, saying the same thing. An internet site dedicated to the "War on Drugs" wrote that Hoover denied the existence of the Mafia and similar organizations. In this period, the FBI was still more occupied looking for Communists than organized crime. 

5. Let's talk the FBI: As we are speaking about Edgar J. Hoover. It's him who is called "the godfather" by Shatner. It's meant to be irony, just because of the mentioned policy. His little department is justified by the search for secret service connections not by the search for organized criminals. 

Posted first: 06-02-2003


	8. Chapter 8: You Don't Have To Say You Lov...

****

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

Special thanks to fujifunmum and Pirandella

Thanks for comments and comfort: Mara, Firuze, Kamorgana, Kensuyoko, Wombat

The black haori and the gray hakama belong to Kamorgana.

Warnings: This chapter contains on the one side a naughty songfic parody, and on the other side allusions to extreme racial violence. 

****

Chapter 8: You Don't Have To Say You Love Me

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

It's been almost one year since he has visited us the last time. We have changed roles. He's the wanderer now. But his wandering is not a search for forgiveness, or a new meaning of life. His wandering is like the flight of birds who come for the summer and leave for the Winter. Who live their lives for the sake of moving around. I think it's fitting for him. The boundless world as a home instead of these small islands.   
Last year, we said good bye as if there wouldn't be another meeting. We've done this for eight years, but every time he came back he found me still alive, and he joked that I will surely survive him.   
But this time I fear the good bye was the last one. 

****

New York, May 21, 1965

One more time, Henry Shatner was staying in his office far longer than all his men, and the ashtray was overstuffed with cigarettes. They hadn't been any help at all against his bad mood.

The answer to his report, send to Washington one week before, had arrived today, and it incited frustration, but also extreme curiosity. The answer to his request had been "no", but that was not the point. The point was that they ordered, really ordered him to keep his hands off Farrel, informing him that this man had received a full and complete pardon. This was a solution to the riddle of why Farrel hadn't had any problems at the airport. But the number of unanswered questions was piling up. Puffing, Shatner tossed the letter back on his desk and lit another cigarette. That was the end of his little private investigation. In the next days and weeks, he had to concentrate on more urgent problems. The last thing he could do was keep his own man on Farrel's tail until he found out the contact. 

Someone was knocking at his door. It was the man he had sent to infiltrate the Narcotics Department. He had received his call one hour before, and the news he brought was really alarming. 

"Sit down, and tell me what happened!"

The man obeyed and took some papers from a small suitcase. 

"It really looks as if the whole Kane group was eliminated this evening." He started playing with the bundle of papers. "They haven't identified all the corpses, but one of the exploded cars belonged to Kane himself. And he and two other men died inside. Then we have the car of the scientist suspected of making the stuff for him. And the third car was registered to the name Arthur Sherman." Sherman was a quite common name. Could it be coincidence? Shatner thought of Jasper Cagney's first report. Besides, he didn't even have to ask for more information, his subordinate continued on his own. "At Narcotics, they have a very interesting folder about him. It seems that six or seven years ago, he constantly stepped on their toes, asking them to start an investigation about drug dealing in Harlem, because some black kids got involved in this. Dragging policemen to the tribunal by accusing them of deliberate and unmeasured violence. Then he was involved himself in a shooting with the police and got severely hurt. But he survived and continued to annoy the Narcotics Department and the whole New York Police Department. Then two years ago, these reports stopped abruptly." 

"Let me keep these reports! What else?"

"The police have no leads yet, of course. Obviously, they plan to raid all places connected to Kane."

"But organized crime doesn't exist." Shatner stated dryly, and the man looked dumbfounded at him. What a waste of irony! He permitted the man to leave, keeping the papers.

For the moment, he couldn't do anything about it. However, he knew it was no coincidence, because last week-end an Italian gang got eliminated with similar precision. Only they got shot at their secret meeting places, instead of exploding in their cars. But the handwriting and the style were the same. "The spider" and his "family".

But tonight Japser Cagney would meet the inner circle. 

***

Fuck the rain! When I leave the missy's house to head to the Laundromat, it splashes in my face and soaks my clothes immediately. For a few seconds, I consider returning to the annoying shrimp and waiting for Shintaro in the dry security of their apartment. Hell, no! The brat is too busy practicing the dirty tricks he learned last week on me, like twisting other people's hands. 

Fuck the rain! Shrugging I decide to go, and after a few mistakes I can see the Laundromat. Why the fuck did the brat give such vague directions anyway? However, I have found it, and passing by the glass front of it, I can see Shintaro – sitting cross legged on one of the machines and reading a newspaper. What a funny sight! Although he looks worried. But then something provokes him to raise his head. Our eyes meet through the window, and he smiles. Wow. It goes directly through every part of my body. Accelerating my pulse.

We have never said a single word about the argument, since I stopped pouting and went to visit him. Not on my own, though. Kay asked me on Tuesday when we met for rehearse, if Shintaro was doing better. It took me a few seconds to understand the meaning of this question: _There had been a reason to worry. But I didn't know anything about his condition. I hadn't seen him since that night. I had been waiting for his excuse, or just for something to happen. _Kay rarely asks stupid questions, and he had no problems with me leaving without waiting for Arthur. For years, I hadn't felt this bad, this – anxious. Fucking hell, I have to chase away these thoughts. 

When I came to see Shintaro, on Tuesday, he was very upset anyway. The shy one of the old book guy's granddaughters had just told him that the jerks asking for protection money had come on Monday and had made a mess in the store. 

Then we just slipped back in the constant flirt mode. Hidden when others were around, not hidden at all when we were alone for a few minutes. As if nothing had happened. On Wednesday, I could even convince him to accompany me, Maggie, Kay and the missy to the movie theatre, to see A Fistful Dollars. No, I don't complain. No discussion, no risky questions, no embarrassing answers, no reason to feel guilty. It's so much better as it is. And I'm very sure that tonight is going to be fun.

"What the fuck are you doing, sitting on this washing machine?" I query when I enter. No one else is in the Laundromat anyway, and he has just folded his newspaper. "Does it turn you on?" The machine is a heavy thing, its vibrations must be very noticeable. 

Grinning, he tilts his head, as if he is reflecting on my question with all its consequences "Well, this is just one aspect of it. The principal reason is that - " At this second, the neighboring machine stops working, and Shintaro leaves his place with an elegant jump. He gives the machine two precise kicks against the door, and it resumes its working. "The principal reason is that this is a cursed Laundromat." He explains seriously when he returns to his former place. Not crossing his legs this time. 

"You are joking." 

He shrugs, smirking: "That's what some women explained to me last week. It's cursed, because every machine has its special requirements. This one," he taps almost gently against his seat. "needs someone to sit on it. Others need kicks or more exotic treatment." With that smile of his, it sounds like an intimate massage.

"You are really teasing me." I say, giving him a light knock against the forehead, knowing how much he hates this. 

"No, I'm not. That's obviously the reason why Karen and Yacko wanted to give me this chore." No, hell, he sounds too much like he's teasing me. Finally he shrugs again. "Shouldn't you be in the "Velvet" tonight?" 

Indeed, if this was a normal Friday, we would be preparing now to go on stage, to be welcomed by crazy, screeching girls, and other crazy, but not screeching folk. Hell, I miss it. Though, not too much, 'cause, suddenly, I remember last week. Fuck it, better not to think about it.

"Fuck it! No, Kay and me, we told them that they had to look for someone else. It was too late to find a replacement for Arthur, and he didn't show up the whole week."

And he was lucky not to be there, maybe I would have beaten the shit out of him if I had seen him. He should – the fuck – have told me what happened on that night. The only thing what Shintaro said apropos the head-bandage he wore until Wednesday, was that he had had a little problem with Kane's men. Though, he didn't need to say it, but Arthur is one of them. He must have known about this. And, yes, he should – the fuck – have told me what happened.

Suddenly, I realize that the amusement has disappeared from Shintaro's face. "What's with Arthur?" He asks with a strained voice. His jaw is tight.

"No idea, I haven't seen him since he left the piano, last Saturday night."

"Fuck!" I don't believe my ears, hearing him swear like that. 

"What?" 

Silence. Then he sighs, making a resigned gesture with both of his hands.

"I did something incredibly stupid. It was a mistake, nothing I want to repeat, but the damage is done, and – Just forget it."

My mouth gapes open. He has fu- done Arthur. I know it, and I can't picture it any other way. No idea why! This is the perfect explanation of why Arthur hasn't shown up. He must have been shocked to find out that his bright angel isn't as innocent as he thought. Though, when did they do it? Before or after the fight? A flash of jealousy is speeding through my mind, just for a few seconds. Then it's gone. And I'm so fucking amused, it's incredible. 'Cause, suddenly I feel less guilty. A large grin appearing on my face, I ask: "Did you do it because you were so pissed off with me?"

"No, it had nothing to do with you." He answers, and I'm feeling just a hint of disappointment. Then he adds barely audible. "I don't know what came over me."

My imagination is not so limited. Arthur is hot, not my type and by the way my cousin, but I'm not blind. I know exactly why such things happen. Why it happened with me last Friday: I was still excited because of the performance, I got too drunk, the guy was quite hot and bingo. 

I respond: "So, that makes us quits, so to say."

To tell the truth, I felt so shitty the morning after. For whatever reason, hang-over, or the frustration that the first time I had sex with a guy and wanted another. But I hate to feel guilty, and I know I took it out on Shintaro. 

"Quits?" His voice sounds more amused than surprised. And he doesn't ask for clarification. "If that is important to you."

"Are you jealous?"

He snorts. "No. Are you?"

"No." 

There is a little smile around his lips. 

"Why the sudden change?"

He refers to Saturday night. Playing jealous has been the first thing coming to my mind. The first thing to throw in his face, 'cause he is irritating me so much. 'Cause of his eloquent looks, the obvious desire. 'Cause, he doesn't play this game by my rules. 'Cause sometimes he wakes up feelings inside me I want to stay buried. 'Cause these feelings would weaken me, 'cause ... 'Cause, things have gotten complicated too fast, and I felt guilty. And then he had done it again. He hit my weakest point.

While the washing machine is rumbling underneath him, spinning now, Shintaro is looking at me. With this calm expression in his eyes. Warm and friendly, concerned and questioning. Like no other person looks at me. 

Fucking hell! I feel like drowning. But, he doesn't need to know it. Grinning even larger, I answer: "I don't know. But isn't this funny that we both ended up with the wrong guy."

He tilts his head again, like a curious little bird. 

"How did you know it was the wrong guy?"

"It wasn't you." Oh fuck, I can't believe I said this out loud. "Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Satisfied. Amused. Whatever! You should know it – okay – I've been chasing after you for two weeks. I've never done this before. Okay? Are you happy now?" 

He smiles: "Yes, and I'm sorry that I hurt you the other night." I swallow. There it is, the excuse I'd been waiting for. Fucking simple! Fucking generous! Just to make me feel worse. I open my mouth to say something, to protect myself from these feelings. "Come here!"

So much easier than words. Just meshing lips and battling tongues. Two bodies rubbing against each other, hard and hungry. And the washing machine is spinning. Its vibration adds more friction. Its noise covers our heavy breathing. My still rain soaked clothes have soaked his immediately. Details become extremely substantial. And he wraps his arms around my waist and clutches my ass. Shit! Feeling his hands sliding in the back pockets of my pants is maddening. Hell, I want this guy more than anything else. So much, there is more ache than the one between my legs. But this one is already very insisting.

When I'm right about losing any control, he pushes me away with a sigh. Just enough that I come to my senses. Fucking hell. We were close to do it in a fucking Laundromat, with giant windows. Even a park would have been more decent. And now a bunch of women is entering the Laundromat. No way that I can stay here, with these strange women ogling us. I'm too horny, and he is looking too cute with his flushed cheeks. No, I need a drink to calm down, very urgently.

"See you later!" I smack his shoulder lightly, and he doesn't ask for explanations. With an innocent smile, but still blushing, he uses his newspaper to cover the most revealing parts of his soaked clothes.

"See you!" 

Of course, it is still raining when I go outside.

*

It's still raining when I leave the bar one hour later. Fuck the rain! Though, my mood grows immediately better when I reach the top floor and enter his apartment, the door being open. 

Obviously, he is in the missy's apartment. Looking around a bit, I see he has bought a new record again. Since I have given him the record player, he has bought eight or nine records in just one week. Today it's a "West Side Story"-song collection. Cool, I have seen that movie ten times. Satisfied with his taste, I put the record on the player standing beneath the bookshelf. 

__

... We're gonna rock it tonight,   
We're gonna jazz it up and have us a ball! 

Swinging with the rhythm, I have a look at his books. Small booklets, some of them written in fucking French: Baudelaire (Kay had one of this guy, too, called "Flowers of Evil", but not in French.), Blake (Ah, yes: _Tyger! Tyger! burning bright, In the forests of the night,_ .... Even I know that.), Rimbaud, Verlaine (more French guys), Whitman (Arthur had one book of this guy, too.) ... 

__

They're gonna get it tonight;   
The more they turn it on the harder they'll fall! ...

There's a letter lying on the desk, addressed to the address in Brooklyn. A curious handwriting, as if the person wasn't used to writing very often. From Takani Miya, Nagasaki, Japan. A Japanese woman. Curiously, I have a look inside. Besides the letter, I find three photos: My lovely friend playing something like soccer with two children, him sitting on the porch of a house, talking with a woman. Ah – it's the woman whose photo is already framed on the desk.

Holy shit! The last photo takes my breath away. There he is, surprised by the camera with a closed up expression on his face. The room where he is kneeling is strange, like made of wood, as strange as the long dark object lying before him. Is this a sword? But by far not as strange as his appearance. He is wearing a costume reminding me of some of these Japanese movies I saw: a wide black jacket and a gray trouser-skirt, and his hair is tied up in a high ponytail. And it fits. The strange room, the expression on his face, the costume and the hair – just everything. Fucking hell! I put the photos back in the envelope, the letter is completely unreadable anyway, just meaningless scribble. I toss it back on the desk. Then I take off my jacket and let me collapse in the armchair. 

__

Tonight, tonight,   
Won't be just any night,   
Tonight there will be no morning star.   
Tonight, tonight, I'll see my love ... 

No, no. That's not what I need now. Too fucking sentimental. I go back to the record player and put the needle on my favorite song. 

__

"Boy, boy, crazy boy."

I love this song, being cool is just great, and the music is great, too. _That_'s what I need.

__

"Get cool, boy!" 

It's like strutting cats, quite fitting for the chief of a gang. 

__

"Got a rocket in your pocket, ..."

"Did you ever try out for a musical production?" 

__

Keep coolly cool, boy! 

Easy to say, but he doesn't see Shintaro leaning on the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. Wearing only his tight blue-jeans and a dark blue sleeveless undershirt. And his hair is down. For the first time, I see that his left shoulder is bandaged. But now I don't really care.

__

Don't get hot, 

Hot is an understatement. The air is burning. His gaze is open desire. "Your voice is great. You could have a real chance, even without a proper theatric background."

__

'Cause man, you got 

"When I first saw you, I thought that you had a very good sense for space?" Hooking the thumb of his left hand in his belt, he leaves his place. The rhythm of the music, the walk of the cat, shows in his movements. I swallow, the pressure in my pants growing fucking uncomfortable. 

__

Some high times ahead. 

"Theatre? It's very boring." I try to say it very coolly, but honestly, I'm a fucking failure. It is as if he is dancing with me, every step is set with precision. And seeing him dance always takes my breath away. Although nobody needs to know it. 

__

Take it slow and Daddy-O, 

I have to swallow again when I see him fling to the couch a small metal can he has been hiding in his right hand. "But I know some of the Hollywood actors started their careers in theatres in this city. James Dean, Marlon Brando, Sal Mineo ..."

__

You can live it up and die in bed! 

Fuck Hollywood! I'm unable to stand this teasing any longer. Kissing is perfect to shut him up. His arms and shoulders feel good under my fingers even with the bandage. The muscles of his back are substantial beneath the light cotton. His hair, just delightful. And he sneaks his arms around my waist. Like in the Laundromat. Half it's me pushing him, half it's him drawing me, until we fall on the couch. 

__

Boy, boy, crazy boy! 

Now, I want – the fuck – it now. His body is pinned beneath mine, thighs spread, very definitive arousal. His chest heaving as much as mine. The panting breaths, the hungrily trembling lips. Feels like he wants it all the same.

__

Stay loose, boy! 

This time I'm in the right position. Indulgent, I go for one of my favorite places, his neck. Rejecting actually the idea of marking him again, I just kiss the frantically pulsating vein. Licking the skin along the chain and then licking his throat, tasting faint salt, inhaling this special scent of his. The throat is working when I reach down for his crotch. The other time, he liked it a lot to be touched there. 

__

Breeze it, buzz it, easy does it. 

He likes it again. Likes it so much, that his hand joins mine to help me with opening the belt and the pants. And there is no underwear beneath. Fighting back a chuckle, I kiss his throat again when my hand slides inside. To grip what is waiting for me.

__

Turn off the juice, boy! 

His whole body goes strained at the squeezing of my hand, and I stroke him harder. Just to see what it does to him. Shut eyes, damp face. His lips part in a voiceless gasp. What better occasion could I find to plunder the slack mouth with my tongue?

__

Go man, go, 

My tongue meets his, the kiss grows into the usual challenge. A strong hand grips my head, clutching strands of hair, massaging my scalp. The other one goes for my shirt, grasping it tightly. 

__

But not like a yo-yo schoolboy. 

He is almost done. It's easy to see in every small whimper and every harsh breath accompanying the kiss, in every sudden shudder running through his body, in the trembling of his thighs. I run my free hand from his hair over his back.

__

Just play it cool, boy, 

How did it happen? A strange shift of balance, an unexpected movement. And we are tumbled very clumsily between the couch and the table. He's on top of me, I'm laying on my back. My poor hand has lost the delightful contact. 

__

Real cool!

"Don't worry!" Shintaro is whispering breathlessly in my ear, his tongue tickling the lobe, the teeth tugging it, biting. "Don't worry! We will do it your way. We will only improve on it a bit." Then he starts pushing away my clothes.

*

__

Tonight ...

We are gasping for air. Like fucking fishes out of water. My left hand remained trapped between our slick bodies. The other hand leaves its place on his back. It wanders down the line of the spine over his buttocks – the pure heaven – to the still trembling thighs. Only when I'm feeling the hard grip around my shoulders loosen a bit, am I able to raise this hand to remove a few strands of red hair from my mouth. Then my arm sinks down again, like bonelessly. My hand resumes its wandering. Oh yes, I don't want to do anything else, just relish in my precious exhaustion. For hours. Just feeling the brush of his lips on my cheek and around my ear.

__

Tonight ...

However, a little later, Shintaro rises. His move frees my left hand, but I miss the contact, his weigh on my chest. I sense him crawling around a bit, then coming back to the former place and sitting down. When I hear the noise of a cigarette lighter, I open my eyes, finally slipping out of my lethargy. His face half hidden behind the silky strands, Shintaro lights the cigarette, before he brushes the hair away. His arm is resting on the seat of the couch, and he smiles at me. 

"I thought you stopped smoking." My voice is coming from nowhere, and it sounds fucking husky.

He shrugs lazily, leaning against the couch. "I changed my mind."

When he has taken three or four draws, I raise a hand, snapping my fingers. He gives it to me without any comment, except raising his eyebrow. Yeah, normally, I don't smoke, but I have never had any problem with a nice, little after-sex-cigarette. Especially now, lacking for words, not even daring to ask my standard question: "Hey, babe, it was great, wasn't it?". Not only because he would certainly kill me for calling him "babe". But he made it so fucking clear that he didn't rely on me to do the whole job. By the way, it _was_ great, no need to verify. 

"You've called me Shin-chan." He breaks the silence, taking the cigarette back. 

"Maggie calls you Shin-chan." Slowly, I'm gaining more power over my vocal cords. "_Kay _calls you Shin-chan." It's true, sometimes he does. Must be Maggie's influence.

Again, Shin-chan raises an eyebrow. "But not in that moment."

"Did it bother you?"

"No. It was very special." He leans his head on his arm. Neck and shoulders invite my hand to touch them. The pulse I feel is still fast. He hadn't bothered with stripping his blue undershirt. And he is looking fucking sexy, half-dressed like that. Despite the fading bruise on his stomach. When he has given me the cigarette again, his own hand remains on my chest. It draws very special patterns on my skin. "What do you think about taking a bath?"

A bath? Together? I must be dreaming. "Sounds cool."

His lips twitch amused. He has closed his eyes. In the last two weeks, I have never seen his face this relaxed. But when I tug at the chain to have a look at it, he raises his hand and holds me back. "I will fill the bathtub." He says softly, getting up.

I take it for a good sign that he didn't become gloomy all of sudden. A good result of our little battle_._ Grinning I sit up, looking at the battlefield of randomly sprawled clothes and the little metal can. Extremely satisfied, I put its cover back on it and stuff the almost finished cigarette in the ashtray on the table. Then I follow him. 

*

The warm water is nice. Smelling like wood or herbs, not too sweet. Just like him. Everyone occupies a corner of the tub and for a long while, we do nothing other than scrubbing us with the sponges. From time to time, our legs are rubbing against each other. That's all, but it's alright with me. I'm still a bit weary despite a newly growing stiffness between my legs. Besides I have seen that Shintaro has taken an aspirin. His head must really ache, if he uses analgesics. One more time, I open my mouth to ask him about it. And I close it again. The little chain incident was warning enough. 

By the way, he has taken off this chain now.

"And did you picture it right?" His voice sounds drowsy. I ask myself what he is meaning. Observing how he dives completely into the water, then reemerges and brushes sticking hair away from his eyes. The sight of it is enough for me to overcome my weariness and to remember what I have imagined when I saw the bathtub first. "Hey, what –" 

Leaning forward on my knees, I have used his surprise to cup his face and to steal a kiss. And he lets me explore his mouth as I wish. Sometimes gently answering with his tongue, but not fighting for control. Though, the feeling of drowning is stronger than before. I manage to break the kiss just before we both grow too excited. I can play these games as good as him. 

"Yeah", I answer his question, leaning back again. Relishing the sight of his flushed face and reddened lips. "or no, it's even better. Sometimes reality is even better than imagination."

"Indeed." Shin-chan returns. The sweet, naughty smile around his lips, he closes his eyes. His right foot brushes my left thigh with a teasing caress. But he does nothing else to stir up my arousal. As if I needed to be stirred up very much more. 

"Who is Takani?" I query to distract me a little bit. 

"Good grief, Sam! Don't put your nose into other people's letters." The expression on his face hadn't changed, despite the sharpness in his voice. Then he opens just one eye to glance at me. "I don't like that."

"Alright, you told me now. But who is she?" 

Shintaro sighs, then smiles. "Her name is Miya, and she is my cousin." 

Another question s on the tip of my tongue, about his stunning picture. I open my mouth. "Did you know that the movie we saw Wednesday is based on a Japanese movie?" This time I will be subtle.

He laughs quietly, barely visible tension flies away. "I fear I barely remember that movie. The music was good, though. But every time I opened my eyes the guy with the blue eyes was looking grimly at a dusty landscape. Pretty eyes, though. Did something else happen in that movie?"

He made a similar comment during the discussion following the movie, while Maggie was analyzing and, by the way, vivisecting it, as she always does. But this attitude of hers is part of the fun. It just proved that she hadn't missed one second of this movie. Contrary to this ignorant guy.

"I don't believe it. It was a really good movie." 

"If you say so." 

No way to let him go on with this. Gripping his knees, I dump him for mocking me, then stroke him teasingly between his legs. Satisfied to get an immediate reaction before I let him go. Laughing at his red and stunned face, when he comes back to surface. 

"Good grief, Sam!" 

"Did I do something wrong, Shin-chan?"

He doesn't answer, not with words. He just takes the shower head hanging beside him, aims at me and squirts a jet of cold water in my face. What a jerk! And he laughs, his own laziness is gone, too. Then he turns off the water, but keeps his weapon in his hand. 

"So what is with this Japanese movie? Did you see it, too?"

"Yeah, I saw it, it was called "The Bodyguard". It was very funny because of this guy who puts two rival families against each other, and body parts are flying through the air." 

"Sometimes, you have a strange definition of fun."

"I was amazed, that you can hack a man in pieces with those swords."

Suddenly, he takes a deep breath. "Okay, Sam, what do you want to know?"

"Nothing, just that picture – it is amazing. You looked more real in that outfit than the guy in the movie." 

"Maybe. I just wore those clothes for the funeral, but the others said similar things and they forced me to keep them."

"Who?"

He lets me wait a bit. "The Himuras, the family of my grand-mother. I assisted at the funeral of her brother. That's when they lent me those clothes." 

"You see, it was so easy, Shin-chan." Half angry, half surprised, he blinks at me, and I splash water in his face. Just to get another jet of cold water in my face. "Hey, it's the fucking truth. I always have to pull all these interesting things out of you." I protest, trying to dodge the water. 

"You're a fine one to talk." He states dryly, turning off the water. What does he mean by this? 

We fall in silence again. 

"How did the movie making go yesterday?" Shintaro asks after a while. "Did you like it?"

Fucking hell, I almost forgot. Yesterday should have been my first day as a famous movie actor. Starting with my participation in this science fiction movie in which a crazy professor tries to take over the world. But the whole thing was a fucking fraud. I could better have spent yesterday evening in his company, even with the missy or the shrimp. "You won't believe it, but it was boring." I complain about the whole useless evening. "I don't think that I will go back. They just let us march in groups. Over and over again."

"After all you were supposed to be robots, isn't it? The creatures of a mad professor. Just pawns."

Fuck logic! 

"Fuck it! I don't want to be or to play a pawn." The idea of being in a movie had blinded me. I hadn't thought about the role. "It is not fun at all, I thought playing in a movie would be fun, not just boring repetitions of the same scene."

Shintaro chuckles. "That is how it is, after all, playing in a movie. You never see the result of all your work before the end. It's not like theatre, where you can sense the progress you make." 

Blah, blah! Fuck logic! Dealing with his fucking logical arguments is not funny, and as angry as I grow, my stomach reminds me that I haven't fed it for hours. Even Shintaro can hear this sound. His question "Are you hungry?" is accompanied by chuckling. 

"No, man, I'm just figuring out how to talk with my stomach. Of course, I'm hungry. I had only a few drinks and a few leftovers from your yesterday's dinner."

"Sorry, I had things on my mind other than eating." Still grinning, Shintaro leaves the bathtub, pads dripping through the room and takes something hideous from a hook.

"Fuck, I thought you had taste." I say laughing, when he puts on the bathrobe – a fluffy, pink thing.

"What are you talking about?" He is asking a bit stupefied. 

"That thing you are wearing hurts my eyes, it's –"

"Magenta." Magenta? Fuck it! "Yes, I know. Everyone has the right to a few foolish attitudes." He doesn't sound angry at all, just amused. 

"Yeah, but this thing looks really disgusting." I tease him. "Not even a woman would wear such a thing." 

"How can you know this? You haven't seen so many women in bathrobes." As usual, he has the last word. But he can't change the fact that this bathrobe is fucking ugly. Grinning, then anticipating something delicious to eat and more sex afterwards, I sink deeper in the bathtub. Relaxing. 

Though, Shintaro doesn't come back so quickly. At first, 'cause after some minutes of waiting, I can hear the door bell. I'm sure it is the missy returned from work. It was him who asked her to let him know whenever she returns from work. Myself, I had seen their discussion about this. But now the thought that she might find out what happened tonight is fucking awkward. They are talking and talking, I can hear it through the wall and the half open door. Would be better if I understood what they are chatting about. Finally she leaves, but he still doesn't return.

The water grows cold, and I get out. Taking one of the towels from a shelf and wrapping it around my hips, my gaze falls on the silver chain laying innocently on the shelf above the sink. What perfect occasion to have a look at it! It's a ring that looks a lot like a wedding ring for me, and little copper dragon. He has a red eye, and he carries a pearl in his mouth. _October 31, 1958_ is written inside the ring. It is indeed a fucking wedding ring. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, almost fearing that my lovely red-head might be standing behind me – seriously pissed off. Luckily, he isn't, but I lay the chain down anyway. 

I feel cool air and a trace of smoke even before I enter the room. Shintaro is standing by the open window. The rain has stopped, but the air still smells heavy with water. He is smoking, looking fucking closed up. He doesn't even glance at me, but he has set a plate with sandwiches on the little table. 

"What happened?" I ask, taking one of the sandwiches. 

"Oh, nothing." With a swift movement, he projects the rest of his cigarette out of the window. "I was thinking."

"About what?" Chewing I let myself fall on the couch, not caring about the water soaking in it. I'm almost sure that he wouldn't answer, but one more time, he surprises me.

"About this situation, it is a bit strange." He leans his arms on the back of the armchair. "It's embarrassing and ridiculous at the same time, you know: the guy is hiding his lover in the bathroom, while he speaks with the girl who has a crush on him."

The sandwich almost chokes me, when I start laughing. "I thought, you wouldn't realize."

An amused glint appears in his eyes: "Sam, I'm not blind. At first, I didn't take it seriously, but she is not six years old anymore." The amusement fades slowly. "No, I don't know how she would deal with the truth. But leaving is no option, as long as she has problems with these criminals."

I swallow the rest of my sandwich and grab another one: "Were they here again, yesterday?"

"Yes. I have no plan yet on how to get rid of them."

"Look, you take this all too seriously. The missy is naive, she didn't realize when we were flirting." He opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything when I raise my hand. With the sandwich in it, my cool gesture is not as cool as I have planned. But, hell. "As long as we are not making out under her eyes, she will never notice. In the meanwhile, we can come up with a plan on how to get rid of these jerks and how to find another guy for her." It works, and I'm very proud of myself. Shin-chan hides his extremely amused smirk behind his bangs. "Hey, my plan is just perfect. After all, we both have a good taste." Fuck it, my cheeks grow a bit warmer now. Quickly, I add: "I'm talking about men, not bathrobes." 

"If this bathrobe hurts your eyes so much, I should hurry to and get rid of it." He comments, a wide smile on his face. Then raising his upper body he starts opening the sash. 

__

I hurry to finish my sandwich. It's fucking difficult, my throat feeling extremely dry. 

*

__

... The tension of the past few weeks is gone. The movie was good, a very cool detective story ,just how I like them. And we are chatting about it. ... Everything seems to be as fine as before.

"Hey, nigger fag!" The voice of the drunkard makes him freeze for seconds. I haven't even noticed this man when we went past this bar.

"Sam," While we are walking a bit faster, he lays his hand on my shoulder. Something I would have died for in the last weeks. But now I feel that he is really anxious. "when I tell you to run away, then do it. Promise me!"

"Okay." What else could I say? I'm completely stunned, to see him scared like this. This wasn't the same man. He had never let someone see when he was disturbed.

"Hey, nigger, do you try it with white boys now?" It's a second voice. I turn my head to have a look. Four men are following us. All drunk, but not enough to be clumsy. On the contrary, they look very determined, like only drunk men can be. 

"Do they know you?"

He doesn't answer, but his lips are tight, his whole body tense. Maybe, they have seen him another night with – I have no time to think about it, because I feel his hand clasping my shoulder. 

"You are grown quite greedy, nigger, looking for white flesh." It's the third man, so much nearer than before. 

"Run away, Sam." He yells at me, and the alarm in his voice pushes me forward as hard as his hand. I run. After a while, I realize that nobody has followed me. Feeling like a coward, I stop and return. 

... It's the dark space between two houses. Over and over again, I run against them, fighting them. I grow tired, but I can't give up. No, I can't, I can't leave him alone. ... I send blows in every direction, desperate crying rings in my ears. I have to – I have to stop them. ... One more time, they try to hold me back, to shove me against a wall, but I'm stronger. Invincible. I give one of these assholes a hard punch in his stomach. ... 

... And suddenly it is dark. I hear the harsh breath of another person. After a few seconds the light is turned on. My hazed eyes focus and a small figure with red hair approaches the bed and lays a hand on my chest.

"Sam, you had a bad dream." The voice sounds rough, but familiar. Oh yeah, pictures are flashing through my mind ... I remember fucking this red-head. Twice. Later, he asked me to sleep over and we transformed the couch in a proper bed. And now this red-head is sitting beside me in an undershirt and boxers, clutching his stomach with one arm. Looking so fucking concerned and worried. I raise my hand to my face, to brush the strange haze away from my eyes. It feels wet. I'm ... I'm fucking crying. 

"Turn off the fucking light" I spit, pushing his hand away from my chest. "Just turn off the fucking light. Will you?"

The red-head doesn't answer, but stands up and does what I want. Then I hear him going to the armchair and settle down. Breathing is easier in the darkness. Fuck it, I hadn't dreamt about it for such a long time. I should have known, that he would bring it back. Just with this strange attitude of his, making something normal of things awfully wrong. Awfully sick. Why the fuck can he do this to me? I should just go and never return, beating him senseless before I go.

"Sam." Lying on my back, staring in the darkness, I've heard him lighting a cigarette. But he hasn't said anything for a very long time. "Sam, you may run away from me." Can he read my fucking thoughts? "But, you can never run away from yourself, and you know this." 

Annoying, his ability to read other people's thoughts so easily. I wished I could still consider him a casual fuck, just a pretty ass begging me to fuck him. But I can't. 

"Can you give me a cigarette, too?" 

"Yes, wait a second!" 

Shintaro rises from the armchair, comes over to me. Sitting up on the bed, I take the cigarette from his hand and let him light it for me. After this, he returns to his place. And I'm so fucking grateful for this distance, I'm feeling pathetic.

"Remember I told you my parents live in Charleston, and they adopted me."

"Yes." 

"This is already the start of the shit. My parents are deeply convicted fighters against racial injustice. Adopting a whatever but not really white child was one of the things they did because of their convictions. However, generally, it was fine living with them." I make a pause to take a draw. It's good to have something in my hands. "This guy," I can't say his name. I know it would ruin the show, turning it into something pathetic and ridiculous. "was very active in the Civil Rights Movement. For that reason he came very often to visit my parents. Although they were Quakers, not Baptists like him. They even permitted me to sing in the choir he directed. And he was just cool, he always spoke to me like an adult. He was an amazing musician, excelling in many different styles. A hundred times better than Arthur, I can tell you." Another draw, then I reach a bit blindly for the ashtray standing on the table. "It was him who taught me to play the saxophone, because I didn't want to play a boring piano. A very interesting guy, and like your aunt a true believer in non-violence. Oh, he never fled conflicts, and could be very severe if necessary. But violence was never an option in his political convictions. And he was gay, or bi. Of course, he hid it. It would have ruined his reputation. Though, by coincidence, I saw him one time kissing another guy. It was a real passionate kiss. It looked – Seeing it was so much more amazing than trying to have a glance under some girl's skirt. You know, like normal boys do."

His only comment is a snort. Surely, the differences between the boys of Charleston and the boys of New York are not very big in these matters. Yeah, these memories are kind of nice. Safe.

"However, after seeing this kiss, things started to change. Especially my dreams. They grew more explicit. It ended that one day, during the saxophone lesson, I just kissed him without asking or warning him. Unfortunately, at the same moment, his sister came in, completely out of sorts. I think she knew about him, and held him responsible for the kiss. She dragged me home to my parents. It was hell." It's dark, but I have to close my eyes. Fuck that day! And fuck that other day! "They forbid me to see him, but I climbed out of the window and went to him anyway. Only to be sent home again. I was fucking angry with him. The first time, he treated me like a child as well as the others. I was so fucking stupid, too. I couldn't understand what I did to him. One day, he explained it to me. Or tried. The only thing I understood was that I had to wait five years. Five years didn't seem like a long time."

I stuff the cigarette in the ashtray before it burns my hand.

"He got killed a few days later. We had been in the movie theatre, and he wanted to accompany me home, because it was already late. These – fuckers knew him. Maybe they had seen him another evening with his friend. I have no idea. But they had the fucking idea that they needed to save me. Or they were drunk enough to be fucked up, and just wanting to kick the ass of a fag, even more as he was black. He told me to go home. I was thirteen and a stupidly obedient kid. Later, I came ... back." Hey, funny thing! There is wetness again on my face, but I don't feel like crying. In reality, it hadn't been like in my dream. In the fucking reality, I hadn't even had the chance of a useless fight against these fuckers. In this fucking reality, I just came too late. And everything was done. It doesn't take much time to reduce a living man to a dead bundle of blood and shit. "They had stabbed him with a knife, after – after doing him."

"Fuck!" His voice sounds as choked as mine.

"You said it. The next months were – just shit. Most people, when they knew afterwards that he has been gay, said that he had just asked for it by his behavior, because of his sinful life. And other crap. What the fucking cops said was even worse. And his friend was shocked to death, unable to do anything. I ended up buying a gun, I searched for these fuckers and killed them. After that I left the city and started to learn fighting. There's no way that I will ever be that helpless and weak. Nobody will ever do that to me. None of it." 

Angrily I wipe my face. Fuck the tears! God, I hate him, for making me relive this shit. For making me feel this bitter, cold and angry. I would like to beat someone up. To pick a fight and beat someone senseless. I fist my hands so much it hurts. At most, I want to beat him. I'm almost hoping that he would make a very sweet comment, something to comfort me. Something that might give me a reason to stuff this crap back in his throat. But Shintaro is not so nice as to give me easy opportunities. 

I sense him standing up. His slender shape moving before the window. "Listen, Sam!" His voice is very tense. As if he is holding back violent emotions. But no trace of pity. "You will not like what I have to say. I – I will not feed you up with stupid phrases like 'you will go over it', or 'time heals all wounds'. I would like to say 'stop feeling guilty', but I know it is not easy, either. Just this – you said you want never to be weak like that. Or helpless, letting things happen to you. But it's your own belief that makes you weak."

"What the fuck?"

Go on! Just give me a fucking reason to kill you! Slowly, I stand up.

"You believe everything that people said after this - murder." Asshole! I hear him taking a deep breath. "You believe that they are right." Fucking asshole! "You believe that two guys doing it is dirty and despicable. That the one who gets done is weak and even more despicable." A few steps are enough to close the distance between us. "But being attracted by this, you feel dirty yourself." He continues calmly, as if I wasn't standing before him. "Sure, you try to pretend that you don't take the blame because the other guy is seducing you, but deep inside, you are ashamed of what you are and what you feel and what you don't stop wanting. And you hate yourself for it."

As dark as it is, I fucking know that he has the same expression in his eyes as the other night. No fear, no shame, not even anger. His words are slicing me in small pieces, with the precision of a scalpel. 

"You – you just say this because _you_ want to fuck _me_." 

I had so many other words in mind, but what comes out is this. Provoked by the dreadful, awkward feeling that the memory of this expression inspires in me. He doesn't react like any normal guy would react. He starts laughing, then quickly dodges the blow I aim at him. 

"Do you realize how ridiculous this sounds? We are talking about what traumatized you, and the only thing you can think of is screwing. Is this the only thing bothering you? That someone might want it from you?" The amusement disappears as fast as it came. "But in the end, maybe this is indeed your main problem, because you believe that receiving it is a sign of weakness. I'm not denying what you say, but I'm in no hurry, and I have no intention of forcing you. Though, I won't under any circumstances act as a trashcan for your self-hatred." I'm right about to throw another punch at him, more precise this time. "I care too much for you to do you this favor. I care too much for you to let you stick with these crappy ideas." Fucking funny way to express these feelings. Just as strange as he is. But somehow his words take a part of my fury away. He doesn't leave me much time to think anyway. "You want people to respect you, and not to see you as a weak and dirty creature. It's alright, understandable. But you only gain respect when you respect the others and yourself first. Hate and shame just create new hate and shame, and both create violence and humiliation. When you are ashamed of yourself, you hate yourself. And you can do nothing more than spread this hate. End of the lecture. Just think it over."

I'm still feeling bitter and cold, but the anger has turned into calmly glowing embers. Slowly, I go back to the bed and settle down. And then even the embers become ash. I have heard similar words before, from that man who ended up bleeding and dead in a dark street.

"Fuck! I need a drink now." 

"No problem!"

Before I can say anything else, Shintaro leaves the room. The padding of his naked feet barely audible. A little later, I see the light in his small, small corridor, and after a few minutes, he returns with two glasses and a bottle. Somehow he turns on the little lamp standing beside the bed. Then fills the two glasses.

"I thought the missy didn't like alcohol in her apartment." I blurt out when he hands me one of the glasses. 

"Yes, that's why I just keep it in my own kitchen." He answers, settling down beside myself. 

We clink the glasses and drink. It's really good Scotch Whiskey. Shintaro puts his empty glass on the table, while I'm refilling mine. He lays on his back, arms crossed behind his head, looking at me with friendly eyes. No trace of the former anger. Now as he is done with me, having shattered my pride, he seems to be the same as ever. 

"You always talk as if it was easy." I empty the second glass in one draw. "Just walking through the streets, looking like the queerest queer and saying 'fuck yourself' to everyone staring at you." 

He snorts, then sighs. "Good grief! No, it's not easy at all. When the whole world considers you as trash, you have to be very strong not to believe it. It's really infernal. The only way to break this is to change the way they look at you, to go beyond other people's fears and prejudges, to try to free them of these feelings." While he is speaking, everything is shifting. I hear his voice, and at the same time, it is the voice of the past. I see his face with this expression of deep conviction, and it is another face I see beyond these features. And, at this moment, I confess to myself that I know what attracts me other than the pure desire, what makes this guy so irresistible. It's the resemblance, not to the appearance and not even to the behavior, just the resemblance in beliefs. And I know for sure, that I don't want him to end dead in a dark street. "Sam, what's the matter with you?"

Just don't let us become too sentimental now. 

"Are you always like that, Shin-chan?" I ask as coolly as I can. 

"Like what?" With a swift move he rises to his knees, his chest almost touching my back. Though, only his hand roams over it. 

"Crushing other people's lives with your incredible stubbornness." I accuse. His touch resonates in my body.

Fuck! I shouldn't have asked, 'cause he stops what he was doing. Then he raises the other hand to my face and turns it toward him. The gaze of violet eyes is scrutinizing me for some time. Making me wiggling, 'cause I start having other wishes than discussing. 

"I could ask you the same thing." He says softly, then leans a bit forward to kiss me. It's a slow, but complete and decided invasion. Exciting, but ... but ... Shit, shit, shit! This goes out of my control again. Just before I consider getting him down in a few seconds, he breaks the kiss, withdrawing a bit. "Lay back." 

I don't know why but the sound of his voice sends a shudder through my body. "Why?"

"Just a little lecture in shameless immorality." He says, pushing me back with both of his hands. Then his body is pressed tightly against mine, stirring up the beat with rocking movements of his hips. I grasp him. "Trust me, you will like it!" Whispers accompany the way of his lips and hands down my chest. How can he know it? How can he fucking know that I never had this? "Even when you are too scared to do it yourself, it doesn't matter."

"I'm ... not scared." I protest. His answer is a soft chuckle, while breathing in my navel. Oh shit! His mouth lingers over this place, teasing me with his tongue. The tension grows to an unbearable level. One second longer, and I would topple him and fuck him to the ground. Shit! He should just fucking do what he wants to. "Stop this!"

"Mm?" 

"Oh fuck!"

This is like the mother of all wet dreams becoming real. Almost arching off the bed when I feel him kissing me there, I'm gaping and trembling. And kissing is only the beginning_. _His right hand pressed on my stomach holds me down. Fuck! I open my eyes wide, only to shut them tightly just one second later. Holy shit! I'm still gaping.

"Sam!" I protest loudly when he lifts his head. "Don't forget to breathe!"

"You bit- Shit! What the heck – are you _doing_?" 

He only laughs, before he demonstrates to me exactly what he is doing. 

Something that feels so good can't be wrong. I bury my hands deeply in his hair, lost to this feeling. Fiery silk running through my fingers, spread over my legs and my stomach. Tickling the skin. Augmenting the sweet torture. Silk and velvet. Warmth and wetness. Ravenous caresses ... growing wilder and rougher _..._ My lovely love! So generous! So marvelous! So ...

*

The alarm clock says past high noon, when I wake up. Unfortunately alone, but Shin-chan had told me that he had to work today. Replacing the book-guy on Saturdays was a part of his agreement. I remember vaguely that I heard the alarm-clock ringing some time before, but he must have silenced it very quickly. 

I roll on my back, crossing my arms behind my head. Feeling incredibly good, though a little bit beaten up. Not in a bad way, just as if I had a box fight against the great Ali Norman. Honorably defeated. What a night! What a tricky little bastard! He is in no hurry, ha! But, hell, I can't complain. And my stomach is fluttering, when I remember the expression of his eyes when he thanked me afterwards.

At the moment when I think that I should get up, I hear a door slamming. It must be the missy, using the dance studio for her exercises. At first, I'm a bit embarrassed, but she would never come into this room, when nobody should be there. Besides, I think I can even take the risk of using the shower, 'cause it's the farthest room from the dance studio. 

On the way to the bathroom, I see the message laying on the desk. _I have an errand after work, but you can come later. Sh. P.S.: Coffee (in the Thermos flask) and sandwiches are in the kitchen._ How sweet! How amazing, how many layers this guy has. One thing is sure, it will never be boring knowing him. 

One hour later, I leave the apartment by the fire stairs, washed, dressed and fed. I immediately reject the idea of going home, I have to see him. And I can distract him for his last hour of work. 'Cause, I'm sure he could always use some distraction. 

Funny thing, before I reach the store, I see the shrimp going inside with two pals. Fucking funny thing! It's not even his territory, so far away from Chelsea. But it's going to be even more funny, 'cause a few seconds later, my lovely friend leaves the store. At first, I'm just distracted seeing him, even his manner of walking wakes up some itching between my legs. Then I think I should stop leering over him. And at last I realize that the strange private detective is still following him, appearing from nowhere. We had never spoken about this again since we first saw the guy. Though, today this guy doesn't look like a salesman but like the true caricature of a detective. He is so fucking stupid. 

I follow them on the other side of the street, perfectly camouflaged by my cool appearance. Who would see anything other than just a good-for-nothing thug in me? I even flirt with a few girls passing me, grinning at their outraged faces. Nobody would take me for a spy. But I'm such a perfect spy that I notice the second man following them. Though, this guy is walking on my own side. And I wouldn't have given him any thought, if I hadn't surprised him, throwing glances to the others. Being the last man in the line has a few advantages.

Finally, our trip stops when Shintaro enters a café. Perhaps he just wants to buy a new pack of cigarettes. I should tell him later that his stupid watchers follow him even when he's running errands. To maintain my camouflage, I sit at one of the out-door tables, waiting for his return and anticipating his blinking eyes. 

Ten minutes have passed, and I start getting bored. To keep up my disguise, I have even ordered a coffee. And my cup is already empty. Maybe, Shintaro also had to use the men's room. The more intelligent of the observers has chosen my own strategy, while the other is standing before the window of a shoe store. As if shoes were interesting for longer than one minute. 

Twenty minutes have passed, and I start getting seriously pissed off. Still no sign of my lovely red-head. Though, there had been other people leaving the bar or going inside, but not him. As if the fucking café had swallowed him. Fuck it! I stand up and go inside. 

As I had expected the cigarette machine is beside the doors to the restrooms, but I'm not really surprised not to find him there. Fuck this little bastard! I don't find him in the men's room, either. He must have planned something today. An errand, ha! Fuck this errand! He promised me that we would work together. 

"Hey," I have decided to ask the man behind the counter with cakes and sandwiches. The first glance at him and his gaze running over me had told me anyway that he was gay, too. "did you see a little, red-haired guy. Girly. Violet eyes. Long hair, black beret, brown jacket, blue-jeans."

"Yours? Did he let you wait?" 

Very wrong thing to mock me. Very wrong, when I'm honestly pissed off. "Answer my question, asshole!" I could feel the urge to damage the café a bit, if this guy wanted to annoy me. 

"Huh! Now, I'm scared." Reaching over the counter, I push him hard against the shelf with glasses and cups. Some of them fall on the ground with a shattering noise. "He went to the restroom, changed into women's clothes and left." The guy answers, pushing my hands away. My mouth gapes open. Women's clothes! I hadn't paid attention to any woman leaving the café. "Maybe, he just wanted to get rid of you, as violent as you are." 

"Just shut your fucking mouth!" 

One more stupid word today, and I will explode. Kicking a chair on my way out, I leave the café. Fuck this bastard! Playing around with me like that. Now, it was by far too late to find out where he had gone. And he must have seen me, when he came out. Fuck this tricky little bastard!

After a while, I realize that I'm back on the way to the missy's house. Whatever he has planned today, there must be a hint somewhere. In his room. Wherever. And even if I found no hint, I could still make a mess and release my fury this way. 

How could he do this to me? After last night?

****

Author's notes: Hehe, two cliffhangers ... Now, you are forced to read the next chapter. 

1. Let's talk about characters: For Sam, I have to say the same things as for Shintaro. Some aspects of my story and the new biography make him somewhat OOC for Sano. Although, he is very close to my perception of the character, but perception is very individual. After my opinion, there is a bit more behind Sano than what he shows openly, a difference between the image and deeper layers of his personality. However, I focus his main conflict on the wish "never to be weak". This means physical weakness as much as psychological weakness. 

2. Let's talk about characters (II): Of course, Sam's mentor is meant to be Captain Sagara. I have chosen not to give him a special name. But if you want, I can always do it whenever I need to mention him again.

The "great Ali Norman" mentioned in this chapter is Anji, but in some aspects influenced by the "image" of Muhamed Ali. 

3. Let's talk characters (III) and family: As you could see, I made Miya's husband a relative to Megumi. He could be the great-grandson of Megumi's brother. Wouldn't it be fine if he was alive and had settled down in Nagasaki, where their parents have lived for some time? [I will look for the link in maigo-chan translation index, it's volume 3, scène19.] However, there are lots of stories that could be told. But not by me. 

Some words about the photo: This story is not meant to be a reincarnation fiction in the classical meaning. It's more a demonstration of my conviction that we became what we are by genetic _and_ social influences, and that, in a family, some character aspects are passed on the following generations. So for earning a family typical behavior my hero has both the genetic basic and the influence of another family member. This is the reason why Kumiko is so important. 

As for the clothes, it's the black haori and the gray hakama mentioned above, but of course, Sam doesn't know the right names. In the 60's, men might still have worn traditional clothes for funerals. And as Kenji's funeral was almost an official event because of his veteran status, it's even more logical that Shintaro could have worn them. Thanks Kamorgana for the confirmation of my idea.

4. Let's talk lifestyle: Music: _Tonight_ and _Cool _(lyrics Steven Soderblom, music Leonard Bernstein), both are from the "West Side Story"  
Movies: _A Fistful Dollars_, (1964, directed by Sergio Leone, music by Ennio Morricone, starring Clint Eastwood.) I permit me the liberty to keep this movie a little bit longer in the movies theatres.

__

Yojimbo (The Bodyguard) (1961, directed by Akira Kurosawa): I have no idea if this movie was shown in the U.S., but it could always have been. 

James Dean and Marlon Brando: I don't know if I have to say so much about them. Both of them played in New York the theatrical version of the movies that started their career: _East of Eden_, written by John Steinbeck, directed by Elia Kazan, and _A Streetcar called Desire_, written by Tennesee Williams, directed by Elia Kazan. 

Sal Mineo, (1939-1976): This is a little joke of mine: Sal Mineo was born in Harlem, New York. He got relegated from school for trouble making and was send to a ballet school where he got his training. He started his career as Plato in the movie _Rebel Without A Cause_. In the late 60's, he realized his attraction to men and lived a relatively open gay lifestyle. I even have a little link: 

5. Let's talk about philosophy: Free the others to free yourself: The little speech of my hero is an ultra-condensed version of Jean-Paul Sartre's philosophy. I have to admit that I still haven't understood his ideas completely. My knowledge comes rather from the demonstration of some of his ideas in his theatre pieces and books. I will explain this in one of the next chapters.

6. Let's talk about poetry: Charles Beaudelaire, French poet, famous for his symbolist poems (mostly sonnets) and for his description of urban life in the late 19th century.

Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine belong to the same literary period, and both of them had homophile tendencies. 

Do I need to present Blake and Whitman? If yes, I will add a note when I revise the chapter. I'll just tell you by this way, that the "Tyger" can be sung to the melody of "Twinkle, twinkle, little star." And that Whitman was gay.

Posted first: 26-02-2003


	9. Chapter 9: Tell Me Why

****

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

****

Special thanks to fujifunmum (and her adorable patience) and Pirandella (Congratulations!!!)

Thanks to my reviewers Girliegirl (sorry, I forgot you the last time), Kamorgana, Firuze Khanume, Far Strider, Fitz, Kensuyoko and Chibi-chan. I'm very grateful for all your encouragement.

Warning: Language, because Sam is still in a very bad mood, you remember, and his mood will not get better. Controversial political opinions!!!! (You have been warned.). 

Chapter 9: Tell Me Why 

(Hehe, my first idea of a title was the anachronistic "An Englishman in New York", but as the Englishman doesn't show up as much as planned, I had to change the title, and it was not easy at all. But I got my hand on a book with Beatles songs, and this is one of the not so famous, from 1964.) 

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

It was so strange.   
Not waking up in the middle of the night. It happens often despite my decreasing strength. Too often even. It's the harvest moon. It is still disturbing my dreams, sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way.  
It was strange to see the moonlight falling into the room, bathing the futon and my beloved in its light. So beautiful and distant, like a person I never saw before. And do I know her? Or were there things she hid from me in the past years. Unasked questions, unsaid words, missed occasions, something that had to be said at last.   
I looked at her for hours, until she awoke all of sudden. Maybe, she felt my gaze. She turned on the light, then looked back at me. And when I told her what I was thinking, she called me an idiot and smiled.   
Who she is? The woman I love. 

****

New York, May 22, 1965

The coffee tasted bad, it fit to his mood: The new day had started like the previous had ended, with bad news and murder. Shatner had received the news just before he went to meet Jasper Cagney.

This time, Shatner's own men had been executed in the early morning hours. And this should not have happened. They had been warned and should have disappeared for a few weeks, the risk was calculated, new papers had been prepared for these men and their families. Everything had been part of the game, and their death told Shatner that he had lost the first round. 

"'Morning, boss!" Jasper Cagney sat across from him, and Shatner recognized that he knew the news already. "Bad thing, that!"

"Were these names one part of the information your new collaborators had asked for?" Shatner didn't bother with greetings and polite conversation. He hoped that the news Cagney brought from his meeting with the inner circle of the "family" was good enough that his men hadn't died for nothing. 

"No names. They just asked if the police, or the FBI had infiltrated some of their gangs."

That meant they must have known their names before the meeting, and just wanted proof that their new informant didn't try to fool them. 

"Tell me about the meeting!"

"At first, I spoke with three men: O'Sullivan whose tasks are as unreadable as his face." 

"Is this the Irish man who works in this Club? Velvet and whatever."

"Yes, and he has contacts to a lot of music clubs. That seems to be his cover. I have already tried to find out details about his life, but it is impossible. No record with the police, impeccable immigration papers." 

"What about the two other men?" Shatner took a cigarette from his pack, the sole delight of a frustrating morning. 

"Now it gets interesting. Both of them are Italians. One of them is called Huberto Salvatore. He is a business man. What better cover could he have? I have not even found out which position he has in this organization. It's the third man who might interest you most. His name is Ernesto Usica."

This bastard! Of course, Henry Shatner knew that name. It was because of this man that he had asked for his present position in the first place, searching for an assignment he could use to make up for his previous failure. Even before he learned about the secret organization, and the "spider", and all the other scum of this city. And their relationship to one of his old enemies. One year before, Usica had been suspected of the murder of several policemen, and some other people but the accusation had been dropped because the witnesses refused to appear in court. The idea of Usica being involved with the "spider" was one more reason to hunt them down.

"And what else did you find out? " He asked, stuffing the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray. The bad news of the day even had ruined its flavor.

"Later, they brought me to see the spider." Jasper Cagney answered, too much pride in his voice. 

"Don't let it go to your head! What did you find out about the spider?" 

Cagney grinned widely: "Obviously, the she wants to take over the complete New York underworld."

"Who?"

"The "spider". Her name is Yumi Komagata, she has been back from Europe for one week." Shatner dropped the next cigarette he was taking from the pack. He was absolutely sure that Cagney had been fooled, however clever he believed himself to be. But he kept this thought to himself. The reason why he knew it was not in the slightest Cagney's business. "Yeah, boss, the spider is a woman. And you will be delighted to hear that I remembered immediately where I have read this name before."

"Stop trying to be clever, Cagney! You are lousy at it. Where?"

Jasper Cagney told him, and when Shatner lit his new cigarette, he found the flavor far better than before. "What else?" He queried.

"They have actually started something that they call the time of cleaning. Whatever they mean by that." Shatner thought immediately of the elimination of Kane and his men. Cleaning sounded very much like eliminating. "But it seems that they have planned a very big coup."

"What?"

"I have no fucking idea. Obviously, they don't trust me that much. Yet."

***

The phone must have rung several times when I was out taking a nice long walk in the Central Park. I can hear it from outside, while I'm climbing the last stairs. Though, it stops just before I enter the apartment. Oh, I'm not sorry, because I prefer the day continuing as nicely as it has begun. 

When I was a child I loved Saturdays. Although neither my grand-parents, nor my parents were very traditional, we always went to my grandparents for dinner, and they always had guests on these occasions who brought their children with them. And we had lots of fun. 

Yacko hates Saturdays because of dad's desperate attempts to keep the family tradition, which were always pathetic. For this reason, he usually stays away from the house most of the day, and I have to amuse myself. Walking in Central Park always makes me happy. 

Returning from it, taking off my blazer – the weather was already mild enough for a light summer blazer – , I feel so light and joyful. I decide to do some dance exercises before I give the fridge a second thought, just pouring myself a glass of milk. Dancing isn't work at all anyway. I empty my glass, before changing into my dancing clothes.

Warming up and stretching, I think with regret that, in the last week, I still had no chance to speak with Kenneth about my plan to enter the New York Ballet. However, even this doesn't matter anymore when I begin the exercises for real. 

The performance of the classical moves at first at the barre , then freely in the room, absorbs me so deeply that I have no notion of the flow of time and the world around me. That's why I get a real fright, when, suddenly, I hear loud footsteps rumbling through the corridor, and the noise of a shattering door. But after a few seconds, I gather my wits together.

The door of the little apartment is broken, and at the sight of it I feel both pity and anger. Fueled when I hear the noise of something heavy falling on the ground. This is not a pleasant sound at all, but I am far more angry than scared. Putting my fists on my hips, I go in the main room. And I am not surprised at all to see Sam Sherman.

"What do you think doing here, Sam?" I ask him, seeing him kicking the table. The armchair lies on its back, the wardrobe is open and a bundle of clothes are randomly sprawled on the floor. 

"Showing this tricky little bastard what happens when he pisses me off." He is really outraged, his face red and eyes sparkling in fury. "When he plays dirty tricks on me."

"What are you talking about? And stop destroying the furniture. Some of these things belong to me." 

Sam takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest. If his face were not so scary, I would have said that he was pouting. Then he starts telling me a stunning story, leaving me amazed. Obviously, Kenneth was playing tag with some private eyes, and, my cheeks grow heated hearing this, he had changed into women's clothes to fool them. For a few seconds, I try to picture him in a dress, and I blush even more. 

"Do you have an idea why he is doing that?" I ask quickly, to distract myself. 

Sam glances suspiciously at me. "I believe that he has some ideas to help you get rid of the guys blackmailing you. But as fucking stubborn as he is, he wants to do it alone." 

And we all know how it ends when he is stubborn like that. In the best case, he ends up with a bullet in his body and a heavy concussion. I do not even want to consider the worst case. "And why do you think that destroying his room would change anything?"

Playing the cool cat, Sam pushes his hands in his pockets.: "No, I thought I could find some clue to where he has gone." He might be right, but overturning the armchair, kicking the table, and spreading clothes around does not appear to me like the best way to find out anything. Then, almost at the same second, we look at the black metal box, sitting on his desk. "Must be there." 

Before I can open my mouth to say that I might find a wire in my kitchen, a fist guided by anger hits the poor box. The lock is not strong enough to withstand it and breaks under the impact. 

"He will not be happy when he sees that." I comment, because, despite all these annoying secrets, I feel a bit sorry for Kenneth.

"I don't give a fuck about his happiness." He growls, opening the box. Then why do you hang around with him?, I ask myself, but swallow the comment. Sam is already outraged enough. Instead I join him at the desk. On top in the box, we find a letter from Miya and a very old and strange looking book. Sam takes the book, turns the pages, and even the sound of the rustling paper is unusual. The surface is smoother than normal paper, and the handwriting is unreadable. I think it is Japanese, and I am amazed, because I never thought that Kenneth was familiar enough with this language to read it. "How can anyone read this scribble?" Huffing, Sam tosses the book back on the desk. Then, suddenly, he grins and takes the letter. "Look at that! It's amazing." He shows me a photo of Kenneth in traditional Japanese clothes. And he is right, it is amazing. While I am looking at the picture, I feel like I am seeing the photo of a completely unknown person. It is Kenneth and it is not him at the same time. It reminds me of the strange expression in his eyes when he threatened Santa Gallo. This look seems very appropriate to the kneeling young man. "He really has a soft spot for photos." Sam concludes. 

He is right again, because almost all of the box contains photos. They are laying in the box in random order. Looking at them, both of us seem to be inspired by curiosity rather than anger. Is the real problem that we know almost nothing about Kenneth, just glimpses? And discovering his memories is tempting, even if we can't figure out what he's doing.

Most of the photos show Kenneth with other people, and I am sure that he keeps them to remember these people. I smile when I find a bundle of three photos tied together with a rubber band where I recognize the boy from my childhood memories with this short, short hair, at three different ages. It looks as if they have been taken in one of these photo booths on Coney Island. Two of them show Kenneth with a girl and a boy, both of them have slightly Asian features like himself. He is standing in the middle, and they have their arms around him. All three of them are beaming. On the back is written _"Happy Birthday, Shin-chan! From Soza and Yumi."_ On the last photo, he is alone with the boy, both of them a bit stiff, and not grinning, but nevertheless with a happy look on their faces. What a difference! While Kenneth appears like a skinny, little mouse, a cute mouse, but a mouse nevertheless, the other boy is already an extremely good-looking young man. This time, I cannot read what is written on the back, because it is just – how did Sam call it? – scribble. 

"Isn't it cute?" Sam interrupts my thoughts to show me another photo. And I laugh, seeing Kenneth nose to nose with a small tiger striped cat. You could almost hear the purring of the cat, because his hands are deeply buried in the fur of the little animal. Only then I realize that Sam said "cute". It is a very strange expression for him to apply to Kenneth. Not wrong, though. Glancing up at Sam, I could swear I see his cheeks growing darker. "Hey, it's cool to look at photos, but this is a waste of time!" He changes the subject quickly, emptying the complete contents of the box on the desk. The last things remaining stuck in the box are a bundle of letters, and beneath it some folded papers. One is the marriage license of Kenneth's parents, Akane Sakamura and Malcolm Farrel, with the seal of the American Ambassador in Japan. As expected, the second document states Kenneth's birth on June 15, 1937. "Holy fucking shit!" Sam exclaims when he has a look at the third document.

Then he shows me the paper. It is another marriage license, and there is no doubt to whom it belongs, because the names of the married couple are Maria Teresa Blancanieve and Kenneth S. Farrel. And they had married on October 31, 1958. Here in New York City. 

Sometimes, glimpses may be better than the truth. Sometimes, the truth hurts, even against all reason. Seeing this document, I have no desire anymore to learn anything else about Kenneth's past. It is better to concentrate on the present.

"It does not look as if we're going to find any clues in this box." I say, leaving the desk, looking in the dresser. Looking but not really seeing anything. In his letters, Kenneth never mentioned this marriage, not one single word. 

"Of course," Sam's voice makes me almost jump, I didn't realize that he had stepped behind me. "it must be in one of the fucking suitcases. A false bottom - typical." After a night at the movies with him, I have no doubt where he found this particular knowledge. Sam has pulled the bigger suitcase from the top of the dresser. Being obviously heavier than expected the suitcase comes down too fast, hitting Sam's head before it falls on the ground, opening on impact. "Fucking thing!" A long, curved metal object with a strange hilt rattles on the floor. "What the fuck?"

"This must be the sword." I explain, and I'm right when I see Sam grabbing the hilt and pulling the sword out of its sheath. "He inherited it from the brother of his grandmother." I'm not completely sure, but it is a very nice feeling to surprise him with my knowledge.

"Wow." Sam blurts out, once more easily distracted. "But something is wrong with it."

"You can ask him about it later." I am almost sighing, while I am looking in the suitcase to verify if Sam's suspicion about the false bottom was true. Unfortunately, it is not, because I find no trace of it. "There is no false bottom."

With obvious regret, Sam puts the blade back in its sheath and lays the sword on the floor. Then he takes the other suitcase, standing in the dresser. And this time we are successful, even if we need some time to find it. There is a false bottom. Although I have to look for a knife to cut it open, because we cannot remove it easily. 

"Holy fucking shit!" Sam repeats his former words, echoing my own thoughts. The false bottom has hidden no less than five false passports, one of them with the name of a woman. The faces on the small photos are quite different, but having studied Kenneth's face so often in the last few weeks, I can recognize traces of his features in all of them. "What a tricky bastard!" Sam repeats another of his former statements. Besides the passports we find a postcard written in a foreign language, and I am sure it is German. I recognize the words "Berlin" and "Waldorf Astoria", and a phone number that could really be the number of a room in this hotel. "Yes, must be there." Sam declares when he has snatched the postcard from my hand. "You see," His voice vibrates with feverish enthusiasm. "the stamp is from here, and the postmark is from New York, too. It must be there. Let's call the number!"

To tell the truth, the idea of calling a stranger embarrasses me a bit, but on the other hand, I'm sure that Kenneth is only ready to admit something he wants to hide when he is cornered. I only have to remember the effort it took, threatening him with corporal punishment, before he would tell me what happened last weekend and that he had a problem with a drug dealer.

"Yes, let's do it!" I say, recalling my anger about his stubbornness.

We go over to my apartment and take the phone from the hall into the kitchen. And while Sam is taking a handful of the hazelnuts standing on the counter, I dial the number written on the postcard.

"Yes." The voice on the phone is deep, smooth and absolutely masculine, like velvet wrapped around a sharp blade, or like hot cocoa made with very dark chocolate. I have to swallow before I find my voice. 

"Excuse me, Mister – "

"My name is Bond, James Bond." 

"What?" Sam who has approached his head to hear my conversation on the phone, is yelping incredulously, almost spitting little pieces of hazelnut over the table. I am somewhat perplexed too. Weren't there some movies about a British spy? "This is a fucking joke."

"What can I do for you, Miss?" The voice modulates in a perfect British accent, expressing indulgent patience. My growing irritation helps me to keep my wits together.

"My name is Karen Kaszowiz. Excuse my intrusion on your privacy, but do you know a man called Kenneth Farrel?" I say, feeling like the stupidest girl in the world for asking so shyly, and for asking at all. The man calling himself James Bond is silent for a few minutes, then he laughs quietly. 

"You shouldn't leave yet." Still amused, he speaks to a person in the same room with him. "Someone wants to speak with you. It's a young lady. I'm impressed." Another, more familiar voice in the background says a very bad word. "Don't be so sensitive! It's really for you." 

"What can I do for you?" Kenneth is asking even more shy than I was.

"You are an idiot." I yell in the phone, infinitely relieved that I can release the turmoil of feelings inside me. "How dare you to hide things concerning me? You -"

"You fucking stubborn bastard," Sam has snatched the receiver from my hand. "remember what you promised me? How can you keep me out now?"

"What?" I tear the receiver back to me. "The both of you have conspired behind my back. After all it's my house and it concerns me the most. Do you take me for a stupid, little child? I don't need to be protected all time, and -" 

"Don't take _me_ for a fucking child either, someone you can push away when things get serious! If you dare to do this one more time, I will prove you that I'm not. I will beat you until you forget who you are, and I will rip off your fucking ass, and –"

That is the moment I cut the connection: "I do not think that he needs more details to understand what you want to tell him." We are a bit breathless after this action, but then we share a moment of grinning satisfaction.

Then Sam gets up. "Sometimes he is such a jerk! Spoiling my whole fucking day, like this!" Shoving his hands in his pockets, he slowly goes to the door. At the door, he turns towards me, grinning: "I'll be back in an hour or so. Don't kill him alone, missy! I want to help."

After a few minutes of pure shock, I decide to take a shower, before Kenneth returns. Being clean and properly dressed gives arguments much more weight.

*

He is not back, yet, when I get changed. Meanwhile, the anger has faded a bit, and annoyance, then regret take its place. All these secrets hurt me, but the unmentioned marriage is just the smallest of all these riddles. There might be more and darker ones, hidden behind the false passports and his meeting with this man. James Bond? I should have asked Sam about those movies. The name must be a joke anyway, but who would give himself the name of a movie hero? 

Finally, when I have eaten a bit, I go over to his rooms again, the door being broken anyway. It is really damaged, I will have to call someone to repair it. However, what Sam has done inside the rooms I can repair alone. I do not know why, but I feel better doing something, and putting everything back in order is better than sitting and waiting. So I put the photos, letters and documents back in the box, but it is obvious that the damage to the lock is irreparable. Shrugging, I straighten the armchair, and I fold the clothes sprawled on the ground before putting them back in the place where they might belong. Keeping the false passports, I put the smaller suitcase back in the dresser. The sword is too fascinating to immediately put it back in the other suitcase. Like Sam, I pull it out of its sheath, looking at the elegantly curved metal. The beauty of it makes me forget that I hold a weapon in my hands. Though, Sam was right, something is strange about the sword. The sharp blade is on the smaller side, and it is very sharp: I cut my finger a bit, when I touch it lightly. 

"It's reverse bladed, but sharp nonetheless." Kenneth's voice speaking to me all of sudden startles me. 

"Don't creep up on me like that!" I fight it back, throwing him a narrow glance.

"Sorry." Kenneth is standing at the entrance of the room, and a sad, little smile is curving his lips. It is not at all what I expected from him. "I feared the room would look worse." 

He says, dropping the bag he was carrying. Then he opens it and brings out another metal box, blue and gold, with a red dragon on the cover. Without saying more, he goes to his desk, opens the damaged box and puts everything, photos, letters and documents, in the new box. I cannot see his face, hidden by his hair, and even his posture does not reveal very much, but his hands tell more than anything else. For a few seconds, they seem to search for the most perfect place, moving the box back and forth a few times. When they leave the box alone, they rub against each other, stretching as if the skin became too tight. And I decide I will not ask him about the marriage, not when he was not ready to speak about it. 

"You know," Kenneth breaks the silence after a while, lifting his head and smiling friendly. "I waited one week before I accepted the sword. It might be an unusual weapon, and I really wasn't sure about its general value, but the symbolic value and the obligation it implies are quite heavy." He takes the sword from my hands, looking very thoughtful, but not gloomy, when he continues. "But then I thought what better symbol of a new beginning could I find: Fighting for my beliefs as hard as I can, and respecting human life. That's what it means, more or less."

So were the trip to Japan and his return to New York both meant to be signs of a new beginning, for a new life beyond this past he does not like to reveal? Seeing him like he is now, I think he has all right to hide his dark side. It's all in the past anyway, and the past is the past, while the present is the present. Too much past in the present, and you stop living your life at all. I know that well enough, because I learned to deal with the past by concentrating on the present problems.

"So did you find out that your family had changed when you traveled to Tokyo for the funeral?" I ask finally, searching for a proof of my suggestion. Kenneth does not ask what I mean, and I think he is aware that I refer to his letter. 

"Yes," He says softly, placing the sword on the desk. "the first visit to the family in Tokyo was very awful. Before, I had experienced racial prejudice, or discrimination only from white people, or from Hispanics, when they had fought in the war. Maybe, it would have been different if Kumiko and I had lived within the Japanese community. But as it was, I was utterly shocked that my own relatives considered me unworthy for the family because of my mixed blood. In their eyes, my mother had not only betrayed her country, and dishonored her own father, but had betrayed their trust and dishonored them, too, because she was set under their custody at the time when she met my father." 

I follow his gaze to the photo of his parents. They look so happy, and it is almost incredible how much hurt is lingering under the surface of this cheerfulness.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, don't worry about me. It was not the same anymore when I went there for the funeral. We all have changed. And today is a good day to -."

Loud and heavy footsteps interrupt us, and a little bit later Sam appears at the entrance. "Ah, there you are. And still alive? Obviously, the missy didn't kill you." Crossing his arms over his chest, he glances dourly at Kenneth. Whatever he has done in the last hour, his mood was not improved by it. "Don't think that I'll let you off this easily! And don't try to hide anything!"

"I had no intention of deluding you." Kenneth stays calm, as if he did not recognize the fury radiating from him. "I did not know that you might spy on me, I just did not want you to get involved in this. It is not the same as playing tag with the thugs of this neighborhood. It is a very dirty game."

"And you are a fucking master of dirty games." 

At first, Kenneth blushes deeply, then the sad, little smile reappears for a few seconds.: "Yes, I am, and I am not proud at all about it." Sam opens his mouth and shuts it, whatever he expected, this answer leaves him as stunned as I am. "Anyway, the damage is done, and I have no idea, yet, what problems will come from your little action."

"Oh, you don't worry about me." Sam returns to his usual behavior. 

"But why did you go to visit this man anyway?" I ask to get them back on track. Kenneth does not answer at first, but, going to the table, he pulls out a metallic clinking bundle from the inside pocket of his jacket and lays it on the table. From his other pockets, he pulls out other little things that look like technical stuff, while Sam opens the bundle. 

"What the fuck is that?" He is expressing my own thoughts, when we see what is inside. It is a set of hooks in different sizes, small files and other very mysterious things. 

"Kenneth, what is all this stuff for?" 

Kenneth remains silent. Going back to the place where he has dropped his bag, he takes a very, very small camera from it. He also sets it on the table beside the other things.

"Hey, say something!" Sam tries to get rid of his surprise in his usual way, by smacking Kenneth's shoulder. "What the fuck are you up to?" 

"As I said, we will play tag. With Santa Gallo's men, with the men trying to blackmail Mister Gelbstein and some other people who are getting really annoying. I thought I might need some things, too special to buy in a store. Of course, I would not have done anything without telling you. But, I really do not like the idea, that he knows that you care about me." 

"Who?" Sam and me are asking almost with the same voice. Then Sam answers the question by himself: "Of course, you mean this guy you met. He isn't really James Bond?" The stern expression on Sam's face is a bit softened by rekindled curiosity, and a hint of fascination. 

"Good grief, no!" The exclamation is almost desperate. Then Kenneth's voice slips into an annoyed muttering. "He thinks he's a genius and writing bad spy stories is one of his minor – pass times. He writes them and sells them to this Irish guy through an agent."

"Ian Fleming?" 

"Yes, I think that is the name." 

"But what's his real name?" Sam has taken some of the hooks from the bundle and plays with them.

"Believe me, you are safer not knowing."

"Mm, he can provide you with all this technical stuff. That only leaves us with one conclusion:" Sam is playing with the hooks, letting them slide back and forth between his fingers. Like the cowboys in the movie we saw did with their guns. Then he grins victoriously. "He might not be James Bond, but he is a spy nonetheless."

"More or less." 

"And you are a spy, too." Sam exclaims triumphantly, holding the hooks as if holding two imaginary guns. I fear that he is right after a few things Kenneth has said, after this small glimpse of his past he let us see. 

"No," This time, Kenneth answers more sharply than before, taking the hooks from his hands. The expression of his eyes is far from smiling politeness. "no, you are wrong. I have stopped working for them many years ago." He throws the hooks on the table, and with a soft clinking, they fall exactly on the open bundle.

"Working for who?" Sam is faster than me, and far more excited. "For the MI6?"

"No." Kenneth slowly crosses his arms over his chest, leaning lightly against the armchair. The expression of his face is once more unreadable, but not as harsh as before. "For the bad guys." 

There is a hint of bitter irony in his voice, unusual for him, but I am sure it is meant to be a protection from our reaction. Because I know immediately what he is talking about. I do not need Sam's incredible yelp: "For the Russians?" to get this idea. 

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? Good grief! Ask me something hard why don't you?" Kenneth's arms sink down, and he settles on the armrest, as if tired. "We always had acquaintances in these circles, because Kumiko had a great esteem for them, despite her different convictions. Obviously, the Japanese Communists in San Francisco helped her to survive in our first years in this country. And later when she got a job in a Garment factory she always kept contacts to the leftist groups because of her political engagements. And her husband had a lot of acquaintances within Cubans who fled the Batista regime." 

"No!" Sam interrupts him annoyed. "We don't want to hear about them. We want to hear about your reasons." 

Kenneth closes his eyes for a second: "There is no simple answer, Sam, I did not have a special epiphany." Then he shrugs. "Though, when I went to Europe, I was completely out of balance. I was so filled with anger and fury on one side, and helpless distress and confusion on the other." He speaks softly, looking down at his hands. Nightmares, I think, remembering his letter, nightmares and nobody to talk to about them. "It affected everything, even dancing. Sure, I got my form back, when I was in Paris. I could do everything that you can do with pure will power, but I felt nothing. It was just exhausting my body, and fulfilling the duty I had towards Madame Kaszowiz. My reputation there was almost as bad as it was here in school. Always the rumor that I got my place through special favors." 

Sam makes a choked sound, but he does not ask what Kenneth means by this. Against my will, I blush. What he says reminds me of an older guy in my own dance school who asked for things from the girls and promised them more success. I slapped this jerk in the face for daring to offend me. Then I surprised myself as much as him when I knew which part of the masculine anatomy you had to kick to cause the most pain. Of course, I knew it was similar for the boys, but nobody ever talked about it. 

Without reacting to our irritation, Kenneth continued with his calm voice. "Anyway, it was just one more reason that I did not find any friendship there, although I tried to keep my anger under control, being as nice and polite as I could. And then I met these people, most of them students and a bit older than myself. They were friends of Yvette, the daughter of the friends of Madame Kaszowiz who I stayed with at that time. Yvette studied music, but she had a lot of friends studying at the Sorbonne." 

While speaking these last words, Kenneth takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then lights a cigarette. "They were so different. They did not consider me a Japanese rat, or as a worthless half-breed. They were young French people who had all formed their opinions from the previous war, and whose dream was to end all wars and injustice, including racial prejudices. And they believed that the power of money was the cause of all these things, and that's why they fought it. It was so easy to believe in this dream because it gave me an answer for all these questions bothering me. And besides the fight for a better world it was just nice to enjoy their company, to go to Jazz Clubs, or dancing, or to the theatre. I fell for one of these guys, and it was the first time I really felt something for a guy." My cheeks grow very hot, hearing him speaking like that about another man, Kenneth just smiles all of sudden. Rising from the armrest, he reaches for the ashtray from the table.

Sam who had gone to the window, leaning against the sill with crossed arms, mutters something but I cannot understand what he's trying to say. Still feeling embarrassed and confused, I wonder what he must think about Kenneth's revelation. Or did he already know the truth, and tried to cover it up by trying to hide his embarrassment. When he realizes I'm watching him, though, he turns away, his hands in the pockets of his pants, he goes to the desk, takes the sword and starts examining it carefully. Curiously, I ask myself if I was wrong, or was he indeed blushing. 

But I'm distracted from my curiosity about Sam when, Kenneth continues speaking, back on his former seat. "So maybe the answer is somewhere in the middle of all this, and not only me, but some of the others became easy prey for the KGB contact agent that infiltrated our group. Maybe it is because when you are young and foolish, you think that to make the world a better place you have to do more than just sit and wait. Maybe it was the thrill of it, this feeling of being alive while living every day on the edge of danger. The play, the performance – I even got back the feeling for dancing that I had lost." He pauses for a second, taking a slow draw from his almost finished cigarette, then goes on with his explanation. "Whatever it was, when our little group broke apart, it was already too late for me to step back. And for the following four years, I did nothing else but going forward without looking back." His smile faded and he stuffed the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray angrily. "And then I woke up, and I realized that I had betrayed my own beliefs, instead of making the world a better place I became a blind instrument of people who didn't care at all about a human being's life." 

"And what's with this guy you met today?" Sam turns back to us, still with the sword in his hands. He still looks grim, but somewhere in his eyes is a glint of excitement. "You left him out of your interesting story."

I feel the same way, but I also sense more unspoken darkness and pain behind the simple narration. Instead of adding more questions, I go to the window. Fresher air could relieve my uneasiness, or at least, I could just move. 

"Will you promise me that you won't say one single word about this to anyone?"

"Sure." Sam says. 

"Of course." I answer, opening the window and taking a look at my neighborhood. Who could I tell such things to anyway? You don't tell your neighbors or even your friends: 'Did you know? My boarder, my childhood crush was a KGB agent.' 

Somewhere outside, I hear a bird singing, while Kenneth is speaking again: "He was my supervisor, kind of. Because they wanted someone to control me when our little group broke apart, they sent me to London, arranging everything, even finding a place in another dance school. His cover is the identity of an art dealer and appraiser, because frequenting galleries and auction houses guaranties good contacts to important people. And he felt obliged to give me the final polish, as he liked to say. So for the next few years, I moved between London and West-Berlin where he lived alternately. Working as a messenger, or as a contact agent. And doing a few other things. Mostly collecting information about people or places." 

The unreality of this situation is more striking with every word. I turn away from the window. The three of us in this room talking about such dark things, while the sun is shining outside, and spring is displaying all its splendor. 

"And when the fuck were you in Los Angeles?" With a swift movement, Sam has drawn the sword from its sheath and holds the tip against Kenneth's neck. "Just don't be too shy to tell us details!"

Los Angeles? Obviously, Sam knows a few details more than I do. 

Without blinking, Kenneth takes the blade with his fingers and moves it a bit away from his neck: "It was my last assignment. I was supposed to meet a scientist who would give me some documents. But the meeting was a trap: I killed some FBI agents and escaped." 

Oh god! This statement is the worst, just imagining it makes my stomach cramp. But the tone of Kenneth's voice leaves no doubt that he states the truth. He has lowered his head. His bangs hide his eyes, but I can see that his jaw is tight. God, I just wish that this was over, I just want this conversation to end.

"Fucking shit!" Sam lets the sword tip sink to the floor. 

"I ... I missed my flight back to London, then called the person who had given me the assignment. I was completely out of it, but he just told me not to panic, and ... and asked me to take the next possible flight. But ... I never returned, not only because it was impossible to take a flight because of the FBI, but also because I just couldn't imagine continuing as if nothing happened. I stayed in Los Angeles, trying to survive as well as I could." 

"Fucking shit!" Sam repeats, putting the sword back in its sheath. "But one thing I don't understand. Why did you contact this guy anyway?"

Kenneth shrugs: "He owes me a favor, and I have a few advantages over him. Or I did have before he knew about you." 

He is so serious that even Sam doesn't know what to say. And in this silence, I hear the phone ringing very faintly. Incredibly grateful for this way to escape, and to break the strange paralysis holding me in its grip, I excuse myself, and leave them alone. The phone in the hall is ringing insistently. 

"Karen Kaszowiz. What can I do for you?"

"This is Kay Blackhawk." His voice is very tense and extremely tired, alarming me immediately. "I got this number from Maggie. I'm very sorry to disturb you, but can you tell me if you have seen Sam."

"Yes, he is here. Did something happen?" 

"Thank God!" I hear him exclaim through the line, but he doesn't answer my question. "Could you call him to the phone?"

"Yes, I can. Please, hold the line!" I lay the receiver on the phone table, and go over to Kenneth's apartment again. 

Kenneth and Sam are still in the same places where I left them, and when I enter the room, Kenneth is saying tiredly: "This is not a game, Sam.".

Sam swings the sheathed sword with a euphoric move: "Now, you are contradicting yourself. You said it is a dirty game. I'm always good at playing games, dirty or not." He explains with grinning self-confidence. "Trust me!" They exchange a strange look, then suddenly glance at me with almost the same expression on their faces. 

For a second, a really weird idea lingers at the edge of my consciousness, but I don't give it a second thought. "It is for you, Sam. Kay Blackhawk wants to speak with you." I explain. 

Sam looks curious. Handing the sword to Kenneth, he leaves the room. Slowly, Kenneth stands up from the armrest, goes to the desk and lays the sword down.

"Won't this man be frantic at the idea that you may tell us all these things?" I ask just to break the silence. 

"He should," Kenneth turns back to face me. "And that he does not seem to care is one of the things bothering me." Then he smiles faintly. "But do not worry, I will take care that you will have no trouble because of it. Do you want some tea?" The sudden change of the subject is astounding, startling me beyond words. His smiles grows a bit brighter. "I need something to do, so I thought I could prepare tea and a little bit to eat."

"Tea would be fine." I find my voice, smiling back, and we go over to my apartment. Oh yes, I think, it would be good for all of us just to sit around the big kitchen table, to have tea. Returning to the daily rituals would give us something to hold on. 

Though, even before we enter, I can see that this day's not getting any better, because Sam is yelling lots of swear words and kicking the furniture. I have a sense of déjà-vu. The phone table is already tipped over, and the phone lies on the floor like a wounded animal. And the other furnishings are in danger, too. Can't this man keep his temper for one hour?

"Are you crazy?" I shout at him, finally finding something to release the tension inside myself. "Will you stop destroying my furniture? _These_ are definitely mine." 

But this man ignores me completely. "Can you imagine this fucking asshole!" He exclaims, knocking over the coat rack, then kicking the couch in the hall.

"Stop this!" I yell louder. 

Unfortunately, I was not loud enough, because Sam just continues like before: "For one week he didn't show up for one fucking second, and then he has the guts to call Kay in the middle of the fucking night, just to tell him that the fucking police will raid our place." He really looks as if he has gone crazy. His eyes are sparkling in even more fury than before. Not even his anger about Kenneth's disguise had put him in such a state of rage. 

Envisioning the couch broken to pieces, I pick up the umbrella that has fallen on the floor with the coat rack. Furiously, I hit him on his back with the end. That gets his attention, and I seize the opportunity: "Sit down and shut up, you idiot!" I shout. Sam is gaping at me, and another jab with the umbrella forces him into obedience. 

"Thank you, Karen." Kenneth says in the following silence. When I turn, more than a bit angry that he has left me alone with this situation, I see that he has put the phone table back in its place. "I could not have done it better." He smiles, picking the phone up from the floor. "... Yes, this is Kenneth Farrel. Yes, Karen has calmed him down. Literally. ... Yes, she is, indeed." His smile definitely grows warmer while he is looking at me. Kay Blackhawk must have given me a compliment, I think, my cheeks are feeling heated all of sudden. "Good grief!" One second later, Kenneth's smile vanishes as if someone had turned off an invisible light switch. "Yes, Sam told us. More or less." Concentrating hard on what Kay is telling him, Kenneth lets himself slump against the wall, then settles down on the floor a few seconds later. "Good grief!" He repeats with a toneless voice, closing his eyes. Then after a few more minutes while I can hear the distant voice in the phone without understanding any details, he clears his throat. "Yes, I will tell him, I think he will be glad to hear it. ... Should he call you back? ... Okay, I will tell him. ... Yes. ... Bye!"

Placing his finger on the cradle, Kenneth cuts the connection.

"So what else did he say about that fucker?" Sam growls, still sitting on the couch with a grim face. 

Kenneth gets up, setting the phone on its table. "You should go to his place. And you should not return home. Kay has gathered most of your things and all the instruments anyway. So you do not have to worry about it." Sam is visibly relaxing, and a part of his fury seems to pass with this news. After a short break, Kenneth continues. "It looks as if Arthur needs to disappear for a few weeks, because some unknown people have killed all of Kane's men except for Arthur. ... He was not with them, because ... because he was somewhere else for a buy. When he came back to the place where he usually meets with Kane's other men, he saw that his car was burning, and all the police around. That's when he called Kay. Kay said Arthur was not very coherent on the phone, so he is not sure if he has understood everything." 

"At least, he had still enough brains, to call Kay, and they were not too mushy from his score."

"Do you mean drugs?" Deeply disturbed, I interfere before the discussion could become more mysterious. Recalling the few things, Kenneth has told me about what he called his little accident, I remember the name Kane, but the idea that the object of Mimi's admiration might be drug addicted seems so incredibly absurd. 

"Yes." Kenneth answers nevertheless. Then he looks at Sam again. "What do you want to do now?"

"What should I do? Now, I will go to see Kay. And then I will get pissed." Sam answers and stands up. "This is such a fuck of a day."

Kenneth pushes himself away from the wall. "Perhaps you should not –" 

"No! Shut up and go fuck yourself." All of sudden, Sam's fury is back. "I don't need your fucking help, or understanding." With these last words, he storms out of the room. His footsteps rumble down the staircase. 

"He will feel better later." Kenneth says calmly, not angry at all. "What do you think about the tea now?"

*

Half an hour later, we are sitting at the kitchen table, the teapot and a little plate with biscuits between us. "To have tea" was one of the first daily rituals Kenneth brought in our life. Normally, we have it together when he comes back from work, before he starts to prepare dinner and I go to do some other chores. And my amazement about his knowledge of tea has not diminished yet. Before we started our daily ritual, tea was just hot water with a bitter flavor for me. Now I almost cannot imagine how to live without it. 

Feeling much more comfortable than before, I dare to ask one of the questions bothering me. I think it is not a dangerous matter, but I feel a bit embarrassed about it. 

"Does he know about you?" 

"Mm." Kenneth makes, sipping tea. His face calm and a bit thoughtful.

"Has he no problems with it?" 

"Pardon!" As if he was waking up from deep sleep, Kenneth turns his head to look at me. 

"He has no problems with your – inclination?" It is really embarrassing to ask about it, although I was not unfamiliar with people liking people of the same sex, it is not a subject for polite conversation.

"Who?"

"Sam."

"Obviously." Kenneth says, shrugging, then blushing a bit. But confusion does not remain longer than a few seconds, then he slips back into his previous thoughtful behavior. 

"Is it really true that this man – Arthur Sherman – is drug addicted." This is a more dangerous matter, but it is bothering me too much to just get over it. Kenneth is nodding. "But it is illegal to use drugs. And these men – I mean it is horrible how they died, but they tried to kill you. So is it not right when the police interfere?"

"In principal, yes." Kenneth answers immediately, obviously he is not spaced out this time. "But it is a bit late. They should have stopped this traffic many months ago, but by raiding the places afterwards they do not resolve the problem. Nor will they find out who killed these men." Suddenly, Kenneth's face becomes very serious. "Will you do me a favor regarding the place where you work?" 

Oh no, we will not have this discussion again, and certainly not today. "I told you I will not stop working there." 

My anger is fueled when I see his lips twitching in a hint of amusement. "That was not what I wanted to ask you." He replies. "Even if I do not like the idea, you last argument was very convincing." During the last discussion, he finally gave me one serious reason why he wanted me to stop working. He told me that Thea had witnessed the murder of our previous owner, and that he suspected our present boss was paying protection money to a bunch of drug dealers. Now, I could understand his worries, but I did not understand at all why I should stop working there when Thea and my other colleagues were in the same danger as me. That shut him up, as I remember now. "No, I just wanted to ask you to keep your eyes open. And to tell me if you notice something suspicious, but do not take any risk. Just be on guard!"

"Okay," I say, still hesitating a bit, then a pleasant idea crosses my mind. I put a severe expression on my face and glare at him, as if I wanted to ask something evil. "But you have to do something for me in exchange."

Unfortunately, my poker face breaks and I burst out laughing. His extremely suspicious expression is just too funny, blowing away all the painful and dark revelations like a breath of fresh air. "You have to help me to prepare myself for the New York Ballet. There will be a try out ..." A wave of enthusiasm carries me away, almost choking me, my cheeks growing hot and my pulse speeding up.

"It would be my privilege." Kenneth replies warmly. Then he rubs his forehead with a tired movement: "You cannot imagine how glad I am. You see, with everything that's happened in the last few weeks, I was unable to give my true wishes more than a few thoughts." Barely hidden, regret, annoyance and frustration show in his voice. Maybe, he would have bared more of his dreams, but before he can say anything else, Yacko enters the apartment with his usual noise. I hear things thrown through the entrance hall. 

Rising from my chair, I leave the kitchen to tell this annoying brat that he'd better put his jacket on the coat rack, his shoes in the shoe-closet and ... 

"Hey, look what I have." He stops my words, even before I open my mouth. Of course, his left shoe is lying at the door, while his right shoe has been thrown to the foot of the couch. "Look what they gave me. Their cakes are so delicious, even better than what he makes." With a cake shaped packet wrapped in nice looking paper, he points at Kenneth who has joined me. 

"Who gave you the cake?"

"Mister Gelbstein's daughter. You see, I went to drop the key of the store in their mail box, but Deb – the stupid girl came to the door before I could leave. It was her birthday, and she had lots of guests. And she forced me to eat with them, and everyone wanted to chat with me. They grew even more nicely when they knew that we are Jews, too. Shouldn't I have a bar mitzvah this year? They told me that when I turn thirteen it would be time for it. And then I'm a full grown man. And ..." 

He stops suddenly, glancing at me and chewing his lip. Maybe I failed to keep my face calm when my heart was filled with pain. After all the disturbing news of this day, isn't it ridiculous that I feel this hurt? And Yacko has not even tried to tease me now, he was just vibrating in excitement and happiness. So why do his words wake up a little, but piercing pain in my heart? Because he passed his afternoon in the circle of a family who still live with everything what we have lost? This is very selfish, since Yacko barely remembers this happiness. 

"Yes, we will certainly celebrate your bar mitzah." I say cheerfully, chasing away the unshed tears. "And this was very nice of them. Let's have a look at the cake!" And then, while we are returning into the kitchen, another thought crosses my mind. Something that I have not paid attention to at first. "What is this story with the store key?" I ask Kenneth, not amused at all. "Don't tell me that you used him for your disguise?"

"No, no." Yacko exclaims, before Kenneth can answer my question. "I wanted to do it. I wanted to stay in the store. I wanted to show the stupid girl, that there was no reason to be frightened of the bandits. She is the one who is too scared to stay in the store. So I bet with her that I could stay there for one hour, because only stupid girls and – cowards are scared." He ends his explanation quickly, hurrying to the fridge and taking out a coke. Obviously, at first, he has intended to use another word and realized how inappropriate it was. Remembering that for a few days, no words like "queer" or "fag" have come from him, the amazement about his change distracts me a bit from my anger about Kenneth. 

"You should not call her 'stupid girl' when she has invited you for her birthday." I say calmly. 

During Yacko's explanation, Kenneth has taken a big plate from the kitchen cupboard, now unwrapping the cake and putting it on the plate, he says: "So, you won your bet. Then now it is up to you to fulfill your part of our agreement." 

"What agreement?" I ask, suspiciously again. 

Yacko chews his bottom lip again, then takes a sip from his coke. Then he raises his shoulders, and goes to the door.: "Come, I will show you." He puts on his shoes, leaves the apartment and starts descending the stairs. 

Kenneth and I are following him. And suspicious is a very weak word to express my feelings. To distract myself and because these things need to be clarified, I tug Kenneth's sleeve to stop him for a few seconds.

"Never do that again. Do you hear me? Using his pride for your own intentions."

"There was no risk. The whole family of Mister Gelbstein was in the house, and he had two of his friends to help him." Kenneth answers, but his expression shows embarrassment. 

"Perhaps," I say with determination, not to let him go with this. "but if you involve him again with something you want hide from me, you will have serious problems with me. Do you understand me?" 

Kenneth looks at me and nods. Then he smiles apologizing, and I let his arm go. It's strange, I think, when I have a real reason to be angry, I stay so calm, while stupid little incidents immediately get on my nerves. Like ... "What is this?" I exclaim, my former composure is gone. 

Yacko has taken us into one of the apartments on the fifth floor. Besides some old chairs and mattresses, and a pile of comic books, the main room is filled with technical stuff: TV's, transistor radios, tape recorders and more strange things. Everything looks old, and some of the objects are completely dismantled. The separate pieces lying in a mysterious order. 

"We did not steal it." Yacko says. "Not really. Everything was already supposed to be garbage. I just figured out how they work. I thought I could repair them and then sell them and then we'd have money. And you could pay these assholes off." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why should I? You are only interested in _dancing_, not in real and serious things." He answers, all cocky. "And a man has to have some secrets, and girls can't keep secrets anyway." He explains with his usual arrogance, but I decide not to overreact this time. After all, this proved that he cared about the house and our problems as much as I did. "And I thought I could make us a cool TV and our own record player since we had to sell all the cool things. We don't need the 'bad' guy to have that stuff." I am stunned and touched at the same time: Although he liked listening to music on Kenneth's record player as much as any of us, it must have hurt Yacko's pride that Sam had just picked up the record player somewhere while he must have been working for weeks to get one of his things working. "You see, I'm very useful, and when I'm adult I will become the world most famous engineer, and I will construct lots of cool machines. But I can already be useful now." 

"I have no doubt." I say, and I am really impressed. He is just as determined as me, only his talents are different. 

I see that Kenneth bites his lips to keep himself from smirking while he is crouching beside one of the dismantled tape recorder. How much more than I does he already know about Yacko's dreams? "Have you found out what the problem is?" He asks, and immediately Yacko is by his side, starting to explain. 

Though, I don't understand this very well, but suddenly, I know that Kenneth must have planned to use Yacko's talent with the technical things he has gotten today. Yacko would feel a lot prouder when he could prove his talents. Then, while I am thinking about what I could do, another thought crosses my mind. 

"Can you construct something like a security lock?" I interrupt their chatting. "For the house door, or for the apartment doors. If we could tell people that they do not need to fear Santa Gallo's men, it might be easier, to get people to rent from us. This would be the quickest way to pay our debts once and for all. And then they have no reason to annoy us anymore." 

Yacko's eyes are sparkling excitedly. Getting up, he smacks my back. "Sometimes, you have quite good ideas for a girl. Mm – what would we need for such things?"

Though, a few seconds later, we transfer the planning to our kitchen. Yacko is sitting at the table with a lot of papers, a pen in one hand, a piece of cake in the other, while Kenneth and I are preparing dinner. I feel relieved because making plans and doing something has been the best way to get over the disturbing news of this day. 

*

I am very tired when I come back from work, but as I promised, I go over to let Kenneth know I'm back. Music pours through the wall in the small corridor before his apartment, but it stops abruptly when I press the door bell. A little bit later, Kenneth opens the door. 

"Hi, Karen, come in!" Kenneth greets me with a smile and I go in his room while he disappears into the kitchen. 

"Hi, missy." Sam is sitting on the couch with a saxophone, but he looks just a little bit drunk. 

Yacko lies beside him, curled in a little ball, deeply asleep. The things Kenneth had gotten from that spy are still lying on the table, along with three glasses. Under the table, I see empty Soda and Bitter Lemon bottles and a bottle with Whiskey. Slightly irritated I turn to look at Kenneth who has come to bring me a forth glass. 

"Don't tell me you let him drink alcohol?"

Kenneth smirks: "No, it is the placebo effect. He was so excited by the idea of drinking Whiskey that the Soda knocked him out." 

"Very funny." Sam comments, glancing at my sleeping brother.

Unfortunately, our conversation wakes him up for a moment just to ruin the cute picture of a peaceful sleeping boy. Because he finds enough spirit to say: "Hey, this is a men's party. Ugly girls are forbidden." And by falling asleep again, he flees my rightful anger. It is one of his incredible abilities, falling asleep no matter the circumstances when he is tired.

"Come, Karen, please, sit down!" Kenneth says, before I find a way to release my anger, and he taps the armchair. He takes the chair from his desk, settling himself down so he can rest his arms on the backrest. 

"Are you feeling better?" I ask Sam who shrugs. "If you want you can have one of the empty apartments in my house. I have decided that I will look for new renters, and I could start with you. If you don't have enough money, ..."

"Don't waste your breath, missy. I have already found something. But, hey, nice offer." He plays a funny little melody with his saxophone, an alto saxophone, and he seriously surprises me with this. He improvises and twists one melody with another one. Some of them I know, some might be his own inventions. Finally, he ends after a variation on "Yesterday", the newest song of this English group. _The Beatles._

"Play it again, Sam." Kenneth asks with a sleepy voice, peeking from behind the haze of his hair. After a moment of stupefaction, Sam and I start laughing at unison. "What is it?" Kenneth raises his head a little bit more. 

"You don't know that movie?" 

"What movie? I meant the last song, I like it."

"What movie? You really lack culture." Sam replies, still snickering, and then he plays not Yesterday again but As Time Goes By:

You must remember this,

Kenneth blinks, then smiles. Maybe, he knows from what movie the song is from, without knowing the famous sentence.

A kiss is just a kiss

Then he closes his eyes, and I turn my eyes away, the picture is so achingly sweet. 

A sigh is just a sigh ...

Though, after all, is this not a beautiful end for this disturbing day? 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of Part One: On the Road ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Author's notes: On occasion, I change the order of the notes a bit, and so we start with:

1. Let's talk about Kenshin and the KGB: At first, I have no reason at all to have sympathy for them, but, unfortunately, I don't have much sympathy for all the others either. So as much as I'm concerned, it is all the same. 

Rurouni Kenshin is in some ways like the bible, no offense meant. Every reader takes from it what he wants, and every reader interprets it differently in relation to his own beliefs and personality. So as I have no problems to associating Kenshin's beliefs with leftist ideas, I do it in this story. Only I put myself in a mess that I quickly realized when I started my research. The principal problem is that the Cold War is not really the right analogue to the Bakumatsu. One of the local conflicts issuing form the Cold War would be a better reflection, p. ex. the Cuban revolution. But as it is now, the story is adapted to the general conflict, and changed through this influence. I hope you forgive me this liberty. 

More information about the KGB, its recruiting methods and structure may follow in a later chapter. 

2. Let's talk about the master spy! As Shin-chan was not ready to give more details, I still cannot tell you his real name. But don't worry, he will make a glorious appearance. With all the hints, a genius, a womanizer, you might easily figure out that he must be Hiko Seijuro. In my story, he is more ambiguous than in the original, because I gave him some aspects of Okubo Toshimichi. Except for one. The James Bond thing was meant to be a joke, from himself and from me. 

3. Let's talk about characters (II)! The bad guys: Huberto Salvatore is supposed to be Hoji. And no doubt, Enrico Usica is supposed to be Usui. I had this picture of him as a Mafia killer with sunglasses instead his "blindfold", and I couldn't get it out of my head.

The girls: And, of course, Maria Teresa Blancanieve is ... fanfare ... Tomoe. And now you ask yourself the same question as Karen and Sam, although they didn't voice it. Hehe, but you have to wait for an answer. 

Yvette is Ikumatsu, since a geisha is rather an entertainer, so it makes sense that she could be a singer in modern times. She will make an appearance in a very late chapter. 

Reminder: Yumi is Yumi, Soza is her brother (my OC), Simon O'Sullivan is Soujiro. Did I forget someone mentioned? 

4. Let's talk about life and such: _Religion_: Saturdays – I think you rather know, but I just mention it – it is Sabbath: the holy day for the Jews. 

Bar Mitzvah is celebrated when a boy turns thirteen, and as Yacko says the day marks the begin of his life as an adult. At this occasion, he reads some lines from the Torah in Hebrew in the Synagogue.

France: The Sorbonne is the oldest University of Paris.

Music: _Yesterday_, hehehe, no comment.

__

Cuba: Fulgencio Batista took over the Cuban government in 1936, and ruled Cuba until 1959 when he was forced to leave because of the victory of the revolution. During this time, New York was one of the centers of the Cuban refugees. Even Fidel Castro had been to New York in this time. (I have collected my information from different sources, so it is difficult to give one special link.) 

This is the end of Part One. And therefore, I thank everyone who has taken part at this travel through the time, my dear reviewers whose encouragement helped me so much, and also everyone who has read without reviewing. I hope you liked the "trip" so far, and I hope to welcome you again in a couple of weeks for the next part. 


	10. Chapter 10: What Goes On

****

Gentle and worthy readers,

Despite some near-death experiences caused by a heavy writer's block and general discouragement of its author, a new chapter of the story is posted, introducing a new part. I know the story asks a lot patience from its reader, but I hope it is worth the afford. Aside from this, I'm always open for critic and opinions. 

****

Thanks:

Thanks to Fujifunmum for all her highly appreciated help and encouragement.

Thanks to Firuze for all these conversations and encouragement via AIM.

Thanks to everyone who supported the story in the different RK Readers Choice Awards last year. 

And I deeply bow before my reviewers Chibi-chan, Kamorgana, Kensuyoko, Firuze, Vasiliki, Mara, MightyMightyMunson, Talya, Paul Engle and Mary-Ann. 

Without you, I probably wouldn't have found the energy to continue this story. 

In an additional note to Mary-Ann, I just want to say how honored I am about the compliment concerning Arthur. Writing him is a hard challenge for me, and I'm glad it was satisfying.

****

General warning: Due to the development in the previous chapters, and like before, sex will be present, hidden or openly, and mostly between men. There will also be bad language, drug abuse, non-conformist, political ideas, racism, smoking, violence and other controversial matters. 

The original story and characters of Rurouni Kenshin don't belong to me, and I've added a few other ideas inspired by different products of pop culture. 

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

****

Part Two: The Doors of Perception

****

Chapter 10: What Goes On

****

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

We had the first serious row the day when you told me that you wanted to join the army, several years before the actual war. You certainly remember that day, because it must have felt like a victory for you. I remember my defeat. 

It was not you, though, who won by embracing the ideology of the "powerful army for a powerful nation", nor by explaining its importance for the rising of Japan, to secure our place and face with the Western nations. We have to become a predator like the other predators, and not follow the way of China, you said. That day I didn't yell at you, like now, because you took me by surprise. 

Yes, it was a surprise to find myself loosing a once won fight, after so many years. 

I don't know, did anyone ever tell you about Shishio Makoto?

****

New York, June 3, 1965:

The room smelled expensive, no trace of dust, no smell of decay, rats or too many people sharing the hot streets of this city. While Henry Shatner was waiting in the darkness, he itched to invade this exquisite perfume with the rather spicy, and cheaper perfume of his cigarettes. But smoke would alert the man he was waiting for even before he entered his hotel suite.

The famous Hugo von Sinsheim was by far the most unusual specimen working for the British intelligence service. He came from a very strange mixture of old English noblesse by his mother and new German money by his father, whose family had come to England in company of Queen Victoria's husband, and this identity was already part of his cover. He had easy access to people who wouldn't even hire Henry Shatner as a gardener. Money had never been a question thanks to these connections. 

Henry Shatner had never personally met him before, but he had heard more than a hundred stories about him and his strange attitudes. Somehow the alias he had chosen for himself was fitting, the implied joke had roots in reality. But only one week before, receiving the information from his former colleagues that a British master spy had been sent to New York, Shatner had remembered him. 

This man was already a living legend before Shatner went to London. Though, the master spy had been less help there than Shatner had expected after all the stories. A phantom he was like the phantoms Shatner had been hunting all these years. 

The sound of footsteps approaching the hotel suite distracted Shatner from his thoughts. A key entered the lock, turning with a soft clinking, and the door opened. 

The light from the crystal chandelier bathing the rooms in golden streams revealed velvet and silk, wooden and marble surfaces, gold and shiny objects. Only the corner where Shatner was sitting was still shadowed. It gave him just a few minutes of advantage, time enough to get a picture of the legendary man. He was heavily built, but moved with long trained grace. His eyes were sparkling fires of irony when they met the gaze of his involuntary guest, and Henry Shatner didn't find any trace of surprise within. 

"You are Mister James Bond, or rather Mister Hugo von Sinsheim," Shatner covered his irritation with bluntness. "Are inappropriate jokes the new strategy of the British secret service?" 

"And you are Henry Shatner, I assume." The man answered with a voice, somewhat familiar in Shatner's ears. "Or, do you prefer to be called by the name Frank Gordon? If I'm remembering right, this was the name under which you worked in London." The realization hit like a punch, at the sound of that amusedly voiced comment. "Admittedly, I'm a little bit disappointed, because I expected you earlier. I'm appointed to suggest your cooperation

It was the same voice he had heard on the recording of Farrel's phone call, and the smile of the other man told Shatner that his involuntary host knew what he was thinking about. The phone call must even have been part of his strategy. He had wanted to be found, and he had wanted to make a game of it.

It happened just for one second, but Hugo von Sinsheim became the witness of a rare event. 

Henry Shatner lost his cool. 

***

Did you ever jump into unknown water despite all fear and uncertainty? I have done this quite often in my life, and jumping from a rock in the Hudson river, in my thirteenth year, bored by Soza's big talk, was less dangerous than some other risks I took later. During this flight, I felt nothing but pure childish delight, wasting no thought at the danger. The whole thing had been Soza's idea, but he yelled at me when we were out of water that I should have warned him before jumping, that I would give him a heart attack, and that I was a stupid, crazy kid. I just said "yes, mom" for the fuss he made. Instead of admitting his worry, he just started wrestling with me, as always. And that was great, too. 

We were best friends, inseparable, I thought. I was wrong, though.

This time, diving into unknown waters gave me rather interesting experience, more amusing and captivating than I would have thought. Already, two days before, I let Sam drag me to the fights. I would not even have accompanied him if this fight had not been very important for him. And I owed him something. But to my surprise, I felt really good after a while in the middle of an excitedly yelling crowd, in this smoky and dirty place, impregnated by the smell of cheap beer and sweat. 

The experience was definitively intense, and far better than a movie, because of the thrill of seeing Sam excelling in his element. Not just beating brawlers and the bodyguards of a small Mafia boss but mastering this mixture of strength and grace that defines a fight with rules. I had not thought, I would like it so much. But the similarity with dancing fascinated me, making it easy to share the enthusiasm of the crowd. 

By the way, Sam won his fight without too much damage. 

Today, it is not exactly the same, today the ambience is more tense. Today, we see the fight of a true master, and I feel a little bit out of place. I sense more clearly that I am in Harlem, and that I am not really welcome here. It does not frighten me, but it isn't conducive to relaxing either. 

At the moment, carrying two beers, avoiding arguments on the sidelines, I remember why going to Harlem had always been a proof of courage for Soza and me, no matter if we went there for the rocks and the river or for the music. 

"How is it?" Handing Sam his beer, I try to catch up with the fight, but I lost track of the rounds while I was buying the beers.

"Forth round just started," Sam explains shortly, absently sipping the beer. "I don't think that Garcia will make it very much longer."

In my opinion, that man has proved his value already in an admirable fashion, his enemy being so much better. 

Ali Norman. Sam has gushed over him the whole evening until he finally came in the ring, telling me that he lived like a monk, never drinking, never taking drugs, no affairs, no nothing. Though he was a Muslim, so calling him a monk could be quite risky. Aside from this, Sam had already met him in New Orleans. Now he was burning to fight him. 

When he finally appeared, I realized that the man was a giant, not only physically but also from his presence. Even bigger than Sam, he moves his muscled body with the grace of a feline. He does not only fill the limited space of the ring, he dominates it, swiftly circling his adversary, his blows aimed precisely and hard. To tell the truth, one of these blows would have put my lights out once and for all. 

"You will have a hard fight," I say, when the Latino finally is knocked out. in the fifth round. 

"Yeah," Sam finishes his beer, grinning from ear to ear, while the crowd is raging. "It will be so great."

To say I'm skeptical about Sam's chance to win such a fight is even an understatement. Despite his enormous talent, Sam does not possess this focus I just noted. I can understand him nonetheless. The challenge is just too perfect not to try.

While jumping into unknown water you can feel so damned alive. 

Aside from this, his self-confident grin is the biggest turn-on for me, and emptying my own beer, I think that the evening deserves a particular climax. Absently sliding my hand beneath the hem of his leather jacket and grazing the small of his back does not call anyone's attention. 

Sam's grin grows wider. His eyes get a predatorily glint, but then he says: "Later. I have to speak with him first." I read his lips rather than hearing the words.

Sure. His wish does not surprise me. In the last weeks, I have realized how much he cares about making a personal challenge. 

While we are heading for the dressing rooms, Sam manifests the usual excitement reserved for flirting or fighting. After what he told me I can only suppose how much Sam has struggled for this confrontation. For reaching his goal, he had even accepted management. A mysterious Russian, Ivanov, who spends his money in all sorts of entertainment, movie making included, the sources of his money very dubious. We had not met Mr Ivanov two days before, just one of his subordinates, a slippery, fish like guy, but today even this man has not come to the fights. 

None of them would appreciate what Sam wants to do. 

"I'm waiting outside." My words make him freeze just before he opens the door to Ali Norman's dressing room area. He gives me an irritated look. "Believe me," I say, "it is better. He will not take you seriously if you show up with a white person." 

"But you –"

"It does not matter here, Sam. You can trust me on this."

His grin answering my words is only half-hearted, but he shrugs and enters the room. I lean against the wall, lighting a cigarette. I've received these same looks before, a mixture of hostility and wariness, but I pretend not to notice. The strategy works, and nobody finds a reason to become aggressive. 

Noticing a familiar shape in the crowd, I freeze, forgetting my cigarette. He is wearing a shabby trench coat, his face appears even paler than at the last time I saw him. Together with the dark rings around his eyes, clear evidence that his condition must have grown worse in the last weeks. His eyes have changed the most, though. There is no feeling left, just doom and emptiness. 

Obviously, my break is over.

I have been waiting for a moment like this since Kay told me on the phone what happened with Kane and his men. Waiting only made it worse. With every passing day, I started to feel like a taunt bowstring just lacking the arrow for turning into a tool of destruction. As if an invisible gear in my subconscious had been shifted. 

I know what it means, and the familiar feeling disturbs me. I looked for any possible remedy in the last two weeks. Sometimes very successfully. Just a few seconds before, I was still relaxed, but Arthur gazing at me tacitly and without any visible emotion changes everything. 

When he finally nods, I push myself away from the wall. 

I have no other choice, anyway. There is no way to avoid a confrontation, and I want to do whatever needs to be done before Sam re-enters the scene. 

"What do you want?" I ask when we are outside of the building.

"You are in hurry as ever, aren't you." Arthur replies. 

"I'm sorry about what happened." I say the classic line, but really meaning it doesn't change its hollowness. 

His look does not change at my words, nor does his voice sound more alive when he answers: "Being sorry will not change the fact that someone has to pay for these deaths, in fact, this will be you." Clear words, an open announcement of my death, barely surprising or even scaring me. I'm feeling too bad for what happened to be concerned for my own sake. The tension in my body, however, is almost painful.

"Why?" 

Maybe, he would not even answer this question. 

But I'm wrong, and he says: "You have stolen what the 'Family' has hidden in the 'Velvet'." 

"No." I protest.

Now, at least, he raises an eyebrow: "You are the only person who could have done it. Why do you play the innocent?"

"I didn't steal it, I threw it away." 

Arthur shrugs. "Quibbling. The consequences are the same anyway, and covering you was the worst thing I could do, because it caused the death of these men." 

Sure, I can see his point. _I_ had been thinking about this, because it seemed the logical explanation at first. Kane was the perfect suspect for this organization. But he and his men were not the only people dying in strange accidents, and therefore the truth can not be this simple. 

I open my mouth to explain Arthur my idea, but looking in his eyes, I realize that he will not listen to me. The circumstances of my last defeat are still too recent; changing his mind with logical arguments is a mission impossible. His addiction only makes it worse. 

"But what would killing me change?" I ask, to say something at all. 

"Nothing. It just has to be done. It is the last thing, I can do for them." Arthur answers, and I know I was right. Without giving me time to reply, he continues calmly: "I won't kill you now, I will even give – " Instinctively, I slap away the hand he tries to slide in the pocket of his trench coat, flinching when I touch the gun through the fabric. With a hint of annoyance, Arthur uses the moment for grabbing my hand. This time, putting the gun in it.. "I will give you a little chance, because of what you did for me."

Opening my mouth to reply, I can only watch him turn and leave. 

__

For what I did for him? Almost amused, I ask myself if he's talking about the blowjob, or the shot. Whatever it was, it has impressed him enough that he feels bad about shooting me from behind. But giving me a gun? He could not have done anything worse. Swallowing against the nausea rising in my throat, I look down at it, then closing my eyes for a second, I put it in the pocket of my own jacket. What else could I do with it? 

Well, I could just throw it away, but –

"Hey, where the fuck have you been?" Suddenly appearing at my side, Sam interrupts my thinking, and he is angry. "I've searched for you for fucking hours."

I do not swallow the bait. "How was it?" 

"Fuck it!" The anger fills him like boiling oil in a tank, right before an explosion. "Let's go somewhere else."

On the way to the subway, Sam continues steaming and kicking the trashcans. Obviously, the meeting with the famous boxer has not been as successful as he might have expected. 

"What do you think about getting some drinks on the way?" I propose, thinking that it might relax him. Bad luck! I am just offering a target to his whole focused fury. 

"You," He spits, turning so abruptly that I almost stumble against him. "You better tell me what you did just before I found you. Did you meet another one of your fucking mysterious contacts?" Hissing turning into yelling, he shoves me against the nearest wall. I don't see any meaning in resisting. The wall has preserved the heat of this day, feeling warm at my back. The darkness hides Sam's face almost completely, except for the glint in his eyes, his hands are clawing my shoulders. 

A déjà-vu? 

"No, it was Arthur." I tell him the truth. 

"Arthur?" 

"Yes." 

Slowly, his hands let my shoulders go, and he takes one step back. "I see." He says, and now I can see his face more clearly. "I see." His voice reflects the suspicion visible in his eyes. The day when Arthur disappeared, I asked once if Kay had also saved some of Arthur's things. My question provoked almost the same look as now, only spiced with a hint of jealousy, instead of fury. I never asked again, because speaking about the picture was the last thing I wanted to do. "And what the fuck did the asshole want?" 

"He just wanted to say that he will kill me." I answer, and for some odd reason the confession brings me relief.

"What?" Sam blurts out, disbelieving.

"He thinks that his – friends got killed because of my interventions." I explain calmly.

"Do you believe it too?" He asks.

"I'm not sure." I say.

"But –" Sam opens and closes his mouth without finishing the sentence. The fury is gone from his eyes, but the emotion, replacing it, strangles me more than his violence ever had. When someone is looking at you with sincere love, it is almost impossible to maintain the vital distance. But, I have to keep it, I have to – "Don't you dare to get killed!" He gives me a light punch against the right arm, all grinning and pretending the moment of serious emotions was nothing more than an illusion. 

I'm saved. 

"What do you think about getting some drinks?" I repeat my first question. 

Sam's grin grows wider. "But only on the way to a decent hotel." He says, turning back to the sidewalk.

"Sure." Pushing myself away from the wall, I follow him. After a few steps, I decide to get done with the last problem of this evening, once and for all. "What did the famous man tell you?" 

Sam snorts, kicking the next trashcan only lightly. "He said that a fag who doesn't know where he belongs, has no chance against him, that I'd better go and play with the other pansies."

"Good grief, what a - !" I swallow the word laying on my tongue. "How did he learn this about you?"

"Someone told him in New Orleans." Sam says, his voice deadpan.

"And?" 

He shrugs. "Nothing, it pisses me off that he doesn't respect my skills. But he is so fucking wrong to believe that he has already won." 

Maybe, it is stupid, but I can not help it. "I'm very proud of you." I say, giving his ass a gentle slap:

"Thanks." 

If the darkness of the nightly streets did not deceive me, I would have sworn that Sam was blushing at my words. 

His smile speaks volumes, though.

*

If I was a cat, I would be purring now, basking in this feeling of utter satisfaction. Feeling alive and weary. Sam has already fallen asleep. I find it out easily, because grazing his stomach just provokes a soft, sleepy sigh. Smiling at nothing special, I decide not to tease the eager and oh so easily awoken animal laying between his legs. Though, I have a good sight at it. Easily awake, and easily asleep. 

Sam always falls asleep faster than myself afterwards, but I don't mind. Listening to his calm breathing and the thud of his heart gives me a scary feeling of happiness.

It's been quite a while since I had a friend like him, and I had not realized how much I had missed it. Maybe, that's one reason why I think so much about Soza lately. Although, Soza was way more vain and tricky than Sam, I recognize the feeling. When words are not necessary, because everything is evident, when you can laugh at the same second about the same joke. 

With Sam as an ally, even the unpleasant games have a lighter touch. It is incredibly amusing to hear him recite the story of our victory over this strange Italian gang blackmailing the storekeepers in Mister Gelbstein's neighborhood. In truth, the tapes with recorded conversations had been as effective as beating the bodyguards of their boss. Whatever effected our little victory most, they had not done anything for three weeks. The victory made Sam proud and happy, and I let him have his optimism. 

Personally, I do not think it is over. The underworld operates under rules just like nations do. The balance does not change just because two men were not afraid. But, there is no use in wasting time thinking about it, now we have to plan the next step which is much more complicated. 

The _Purgatory . _

This casino is another knot in the spider net, like the _Velvet_ and like the _Underground_, and what happened to the _Underground_ was a hard lesson. No error is allowed in this game. The meeting with Arthur just proved it.

Oh damn it!

I did it again, thinking about the wrong things.

As silently as I can, I get up from the bed, putting on my pants and, without thinking, I start searching in the pockets of the jacket for my pack of cigarettes. Opening the window, I feel a faint movement of air on my face. Only a brief relief from the heat. I feel regret for my shadow, certainly somewhere in the darkness, although I do not see him. For a second, I think about the second man Sam had observed the day of the contact. Maybe, he was not after me anymore, or the mistake of the other day taught him immense prudence. Leaning on the splintered board of the window, I light a cigarette, just out of habit. 

Maybe, I simply needed a smoke. 

I take slow and deep draws, trying to empty my mind like before.

Suddenly, someone starts yelling, down on the streets. It's a drunk man and his yelling sounds pretty nasty. Funny how many insults people have for people who are different. The object of his insults makes an incredible appearance. Especially because of her hat which is just enormous and decorated with fruits and flowers. The person, according to the insults a guy in drag, does not manifest any reaction to the offenses, while the drunkard is following. 

I am still thinking about getting completely dressed and going down in the street to help, when she spins. The short, loud bang of a gun shot sounds like the first thunder of lightning, before the torrent breaks lose.

Quickly I drop the cigarette out of the window, gather my shirt and put it on. Just before leaving the room, I hear a second gun shot, more distant, while Sam is asking sleepily. "What the fuck are you doing?". 

"I'll be back soon." I say, shortly.

Good grief! I hope it isn't ...

But it is. I can see it, when I reach the quickly growing group of curious people. They crowd themselves around two corpses: the drunkard and my shadow. Exactly, like I have feared, he must have tried to stop the murderer. No trace of her, though. What a mess! And it happened so fast. A human life can end so quickly, you do not even need to go to war. This city is a battlefield on its own.

While looking at the man with the neatly cut brown hair, a miserable feeling emerges from my stomach. I have seen dead people before, I have killed people. I should be used to this sight, but nothing ever healed my sorrow in the face of death. During the last weeks, I have learned lots of things about this man: his favorite brand of cigarettes – Philip Morris -, his taste for expensive suits and fabrics, his manner of walking, the nonchalance of this movements. At the same time, I do not know anything. I have never realized before that his eyes were light blue. Only now while staring lifelessly, they reveal their color. And I have never learned his name.

The foolish idea of crouching down beside him and having a look at his papers crosses my mind, but the police are arriving, and I have not the slightest wish to speak with them. People stare at me anyway: a half dressed person with a shock of red hair is always an eye-catcher. That's why I also abstain from the urge to have a look at the other guy. A fool, a dead fool who caused this mess. I feel sorry for him despite his former insults. 

Sure that the police might find enough witnesses even without me, I return to the Hotel, suddenly realizing that my feet hurt from walking without shoes. At least, I have not stepped into broken glass. It would be ironic getting a serious wound, just because of my curiosity.

Reaching the room, I see the light through the closed door and ready myself for a little discussion to come.

"Hey, you forgot something." Sam welcomes me like I have expected, standing at the window in all his naked glory, and aiming the gun at me. He must have taken it from my jacket. Though, before I can answer, he lowers it. "Was it the private eye?"

"Yes," I say quietly, closing the door. 

"Fuck! Poor dog. Did you see the shooting?" He wants to know.

"As it seems, a drag queen with a very unusual hat." I continue, leaning back against the door, the lovely sight is distracting. Sam's eyes grow wider. "Give me the gun!" 

"No fucking way. First, you tell me where you got it." Sam holds the gun out of my reach. Well, I will certainly not give him a little fight for it. 

"Arthur gave it to me." I explain. 

Sam doesn't really believe me. "I thought he talked about killing you."

"Yes, but he also gave me the gun." I explain shortly. Sam gives me a very odd look, before he throws the gun on the bed with any further word. I push myself away from the door. My decision was already definite before I came back in that room. I take my jacket from the ground and put the gun back in the pocket. Then I sit down to examine my feet. No reason to worry, just scratches. "Get dressed! Let's go have a look at Jasper Cagney's office."

"Cool." Sam replies and gets dressed, all traces of anger or sleepiness are gone. I hide my smile behind my hair while brushing it to prevent later knots. One of his amazing treats is this flexibility, sleeping or awakening, desirous or furious – he can switch so easily between all these feelings. It's refreshing.

I kiss him before we leave. Just for the pleasure of it.

*

Sam is agitating behind me while I follow the doorframe with the flashlight for the third time. We have made a detour to my house to get some of the equipment, now standing before the door of Cagney's office. 

"Why don't you just open the door?" Sam complains, somewhat bored, obviously eager to waste energy. His strategy would consist in breaking open the door, since no one lived on this floor. Admittedly, I have given his plan a few thoughts, because we could pretend to be some local brawlers, but I prefer hiding the visit. 

"Just wait a moment." I answer, the flashlight feels slippery in my sweaty hands. The suffocating heat in the stairway is mixed with the smell of dusty walls and urination, getting on my nerves. But I do not want to make the first mistake even before we enter the office. Luckily, Jasper Cagney is not living here, as I know. The only person sometimes using the office for sleeping has been the dead man as I found out during the last weeks, having planned to have a look anyway, to find out what the private eye knew about the _Purgatory_. The death of Cagney's employee and my wish to learn his name just brought the plan forward by a few days. On its way around the doorframe, the light hits something calling for my attention. "There it is. Keep the light there!" Handing Sam the flashlight, I pull off the little piece of adhesive Jasper Cagney and his helper used as a complementary security for the door. Then I take a pair of gloves from my waist. 

Opening the door with a wire is quite easy, despite the uncomfortable gloves. 

The office is as hot as the stairway. The skin of my neck itches from sweat, and my shirt sticks to my back. "Would you stay by the door?" I ask Sam, taking the flashlight back. He frowns, opening his mouth, but a gesture of my hand shuts him up. I am surprised, and relieved at the same time. 

Two times, I have been in the office. The last time was four days before when I pretended to hire the private eye to find out things about the _Purgatory_. These two visits gave me enough time to memorize the inventory of the office. 

It contains a small part of Cagney's weapon collection, a sofa, a sink and a little hearth, aside from the most interesting things: the desk and a filing cabinet. I do not expect to find something useful in the desk, but I decide to have look nevertheless, using the flashlight. 

On its surface I can only discover pens, a few newspapers from the last week. Not the _New York Times_ or something like that, but the _Village Voice_ and a few leftist journals. Kay Blackhawk might find out if Cagney had contact to some journalists, or he might appreciate a hint of someone spying on his colleagues. He has helped us with the Italians, knowing lots of people, even more than Sam. 

The drawers of the desk are not locked, confirming my supposition. I find a lot of office things and a type-writer in a bigger case, but, of course, no trace of the little book in which Cagney had written when I visited him. Though, just before I think to stop my investigation, I lift the pad lying on the desk, finding a passport and a paper. It's too dark to judge if the passport is fake, but it looks like an official American passport, made for a young woman: Carmen Miranda, born in Havanna. The paper describes the circumstances of her escape from Cuba. Apparently, Jasper Cagney had helped her to get an American passport. 

"I know this face." Sam says suddenly from behind. My surprise about his comment weakens my anger about him leaving his place and about myself not noticing him earlier. "But I think that Carmen Miranda is an artist's name, because in reality, this is a guy. He does performances in very, very expensive private clubs, Hispanic stuff, you know." 

This news just augments my surprise. How on earth did this private eye get into organizing a passport for a Cuban transvestite, or whatever this person was? Mister "I hate fags and would like to kill them all"? The passport officially made this person a woman. 

Thoughtfully, I put the passport and the other paper back in their former place. Maybe, the traffic with passports was one of Jasper Cagney's source of income. Considering what I have paid for fake passports in the past, the source could guarantee him an impressive income. 

"Don't you want to know?" Sam's question distracts me from my thinking. 

"What?"

I crouch down before the filing cabinet which is much better secured than the desk. 

"If I have done this guy?" He asks.

"What?" His suggestion takes me off guard, inspiring me almost to burst into childish laughter. Though, I bite it down and try to concentrate on my next task, just adding: "Why should I have asked?" A subtle shifting of his body tells me that he is sulking now, surely wearing this cute expression of feeling underestimated. To do him a favor and to keep him happy, I docilely ask the question. "And did you sleep with this guy?" 

"No. The few times, I have seen him he was extremely cold. Maybe, he isn't into men."

"Maybe, you are just not his type." I look at him for a second. "Or maybe, you don't have enough money."

"Shut up!" Sam gives me an almost painful jab in my back. "Sarah might know a bit more about him. She is quite talented at getting invitations for the kind of parties where you can find him."

"Well," I turn back to the cabinet. "We do not need to discuss this now. Would you hold the light, please!"

It seems like an eternity, before the cabinet is finally open. I hope I have not damaged a part of the lock. Obviously, my safe-cracking skills are rusty.

The cabinet contains too many folders for just one night. Unsure about the adequate method, I go through the folders in the highest range, and find the one labeled FARREL very fast. Stupid thing, but my heart is beating faster. I don't know if I have ever read something official about me, beside Rick's confession. Now, my hands hold a copy of my New York City Police file, the first document in the folder. Five pages with names of persons I have known here and even information about them.. 

Good grief! A part of this must issue from Kumiko's FBI file, because they have a list of all her activities from her engagement for the Worker's Union while working in the Garment industry over her trying to get the article about our trip to Japan published to her actual work for the Civil Rights Movement. Good grief, my poor aunt looks like a dangerous criminal, public enemy number one. Compared to her, my own file looks quite harmless, containing just my acquaintances, but also a notice about the marriage. I should have known, because it was the first time for years that I used my real name. 

"What's the matter with you?" Sam is asking, sounding a little bit bored. "Did you find something interesting? You've stared at this paper already for hours." 

"It is my police file." 

"Cool. I'm sure I have one, too, and I'm sure it is longer than yours." 

I can not help but smirk. Surely, Sam could even fuel his self-confidence with the fact that his file is longer than mine. For him, size is everything.

Forcing my concentration back on my investigation, I just think about looking for the next document when my eyes fall on a little handwritten note, overlooked at first, because of the faint light. Beside the mention of the Komagatas and a small allusion to Soza's criminal career and to his death, the hand of the stranger had written: Yumi Komagata, S & K Enterprises: Park Avenue, followed by a phone number. Despite the heat, a chill is running down my spine. Instinctively, I lay the folder openly on the cabinet, before searching in my wallet for a paper and taking a pen from the desk. 

"His name was Williams, David Williams." Sam says going through the folder while I'm noting Yumi's address and phone number. 

You have no reason to feel guilty, I tell myself. None at all, because I searched for her for months when we came back from Japan, but she had disappeared without any trace. Not even her mother knew where she had gone. Her mother just threw a flowerpot at me from the window. 

"Hey," Sam gives me a punch in the back, startling me. "I told you the name of this dead man is David Williams. He has written a report every day. That's what you wanted to know?" 

"Yeah," I say, putting my wallet in my pocket and laying the pen back at its place. "but that's not all." 

Then I start looking through every folder in this file cabinet to find more traces of Yumi and her mysterious enterprise.

*

Two hours later, we leave the office. 

I barely hear Sam praising me for the trick with the envelope because I cannot think about anything other than this envelope. I discovered it just after my decision to stop the investigation. A large beige envelope put between two layers of wood that contained what I would call Jasper Cagney's life assurance: information about both of his contact with the FBI and with the organized crime. It was too much to memorize it immediately, therefore I decided to replace it with another envelope, hoping I could come back another day after making copies of all the documents.

Back in my apartment, Sam immediately heads for the kitchen for one more attempt to diminish my provision of Scotch. I put back my equipment, at first, then I have a look in Karen's apartment.

The girl is still not back from work, but she might arrive any minute. Yacko is sleeping like a lamb - a rare occasion. When we had come the first time, I found him already asleep before the newly acquired TV. A fortunate situation, no reason for a discussion about his participation in the investigation. Now, he has made his way to his bed. 

To keep the situation as uncomplicated as it is, I try to avoid any noise, when I get some leftovers from the fridge and take them into my room. 

"Hey, you've read my mind." Sam cheers, half laying on my sofa with an almost empty glass, looking rather hungry. 

I put the plates on the table, before I sit down beside him, moving the table closer. He does not need my invitation "Help yourself!" before starting to eat. 

I am not very hungry, and I open the envelope, taking out the papers, mostly prints. 

Does my face change? Like before when I looked at them in the weaker shine of the flashlight, I don't dare to withdraw my eyes. Guessing is one thing, proof is something else. Not being sure if I knew a person I only saw shortly in a Diner leaves lots of room for speculation. A photo doesn't. 

It is a slender man with dark hair, sharp features, piercing eyes, not missing anything interesting. Probably not even the fact of the photo being taken. Three of the photos, apparently, have been taken by Jasper Cagney himself, because the man sits facing the photographer. There is no way he would have missed any move. Not the man I recognize. He has a bit aged a bit in the last years, but I have no doubt of who he is. 

The worst is the similarities in the situations: A man is sitting in a café, waiting for the contact. Like back then, like in Los Angeles, when none of my supervisors had got any hint that my whole mission was a trap, when the man waiting in the café was not some scientist, but a CIA agent who said: "Bad luck, Farrel, but you will miss your flight back to London!". 

They did not catch me that day, despite a long hunt through a foreign city, but he was right about one thing: I missed my flight back. Recalling that day - a blue-gray sky over Los Angeles, the summer heat in April, the shooting, the screaming bystanders and the hunt – still sends a chill down my back, even after so many years.

Then, seeing the hint of a smile on that man's face, I feel a wave of anger rising. I should not care anymore after my damned deal with the fucking CIA. Returning to New York would have been out of question without the pardon. Therefore I should not even bother with thinking of that man. And, yet, who else could be behind Jasper Cagney, sending someone after me? If that man knew about my deal with the CIA and my pardon, would he care? After all that I found out about him, he has never been their most obedient dog. 

Anger is a dangerous emotion. Rubbing my forehead to fight back the feeling, I have a look at the papers. Revising my impression of Cagney, I can't help but be surprised about the number and the quality of his sources. His knowledge about that man – Frank Gordon, once, and Henry Shatner, now – is not less than my own, and my source has been the KGB after all. They only forgot to show me pictures of him before my mission, like they had hidden a few other things concerning me. 

"Do you know that guy?" Sam asks, the casual tone barely covering frustration. 

For a moment, I seriously consider an outright lie. But what use would it have? "Yes," I answer. "he has worked for the CIA in the past." 

Sam wipes his hand on his pants, before taking one of the pictures. "He looks like a bastard." He states after a while. "but I would not worry too much. You are not in the business anymore. So what's the deal?" 

I wished I could be as carefree as him. "If I knew what the deal was, I would not worry." 

Sam laughs, laying the picture back on the table. "Your stupid logic, man." Curious, he looks at the other pictures. "Hey, there is the singer." He lets out suddenly. "Carmen Miranda." 

"Tasty." I say, taking the picture with the Cuban singer from his hand. In all my life, I have rarely seen a more delicious appearance than that dress, and it is amazing in which places one could place fruits and flowers. It reminds me of the drag queen with the hat who killed my shadow, but the picture is no real proof.

Sam is laughing at my comment, reaching for some other pictures. "Wow, that must have been some event."

It was a photo of a lot of people in extremely expensive clothes drinking exotic looking drinks. "It looks like the opening of an exhibition." I comment. Oh yes, the opening of an exhibition means drinking and small talk, and people showing off their new clothes. I can remember it. "It is interesting, even more because I ask myself if a man like Santa Gallo really cares about Modern Art." The evidence sits before my eyes, and Santa Gallo appears somewhat disguised in his suit, but not enough to stand out of the crowd. 

"Who knows ?If you can make money with it, he might be interested." Sam states a simple truth that makes me smile.

When I put the picture of the Cuban singer back on the table, I can hear Karen's steps nearing the door. With an already learned move, Sam puts the bottle and the glass on the ground, just before she knocks and enters. 

Despite being tired, as always after work, Karen radiates enthusiasm and excitement, sure signs that she is up to something. Dropping her purse on the ground, she lets herself fall in the armchair. "How was your evening?" 

"Cool," As usual, Sam answers, playing the cool cat. Though, sitting beside him, I can feel a tension inside him. It is weird to see how hard it is for him not to lie, while he does it any time, instead of just not talking. "We watched a fight, went out for some drinks and played spies. What about you?" 

Karen grimaces at the mention of the boxing, then gets a suspicious look, somewhat pouting, before bending forward to look at the pictures. "Well, I have played spy as well." She says, giving me a short glance. "Oh, don't worry, I did not do anything dangerous. Only, Mister Cagney has been in the club, and he met O'Sullivan and some other men. How funny!" She picks up a picture and turns it towards me. "This is one of the men I have seen in the club several times, and also tonight. I'm not quite sure, but I think his name is Salvatore." 

The man has no distinguishable features. An office creature, perfectly suitable for tuxedos and social events without being the center of attraction. His face is narrow, and a bit pale. The dark hair and eyes do not set him apart from the crowd; someone seeing him in the streets would barely recognize him later. I know, however, how perfect such people are for illegal activities. The correct accountant in the bank and the most efficient secretary are always the last persons one would suspect of harboring evil thoughts. But how often, incriminating evidences have left offices through the hands or briefcases of such men.

The picture shows him talking with a woman whose face is not visible. She wears a shimmering green gown, very fashionable, accentuating the curves of her body, leaving her shoulders bare. The way she arranged her hair is classic and elegant. Nothing suspicious at first sight, just the sort of woman you expect assisting events like the opening of an exhibition, if she would not reappear on most of the other pictures. A pattern too obvious to overlook, but her face is always very shadowed. Could she have known that someone took a picture of her? 

Weighing these thoughts, I realize that Karen and Sam are watching me, waiting for my reaction to Karen's statement. 

"I'm sure Cagney is somehow involved with criminal organizations, if only for spying on them," I give them my opinion. "But I think we should delay making more plans for another day, it's very late." The words have barely left my mouth when I have to bite my lips for not laughing at their faces which say "killjoy" with identical expressions.

*

A nightmare wakes me from short slumber when the first light of the next day touches the city with bluish fingers. For seconds, I lose track of the time, caught in a hellish place in my mind where I try desperately to find a reason for the failure of a routine mission. Blood runs down my thigh. My body is shaking, craving. The frantic beats of my heart make me dizzy. And my leg is pounding as if the bullet hit me just today. Not years back. 

Then I find myself in the familiar rooms again, but not quite alone. In my head, I can hear the ironic voice from the past.: _"Do you seriously think, the hunt is over, Farrel? You fool!"_

Shut up! Pressing my hands against my temples, I almost say it aloud. Feeling a rush of cold fury, another ghost from the past, I stare in the semi-darkness. Too many pictures in my head, too many dead people, too many living enemies. The first time, for the first time in three years, a temptation reaches out for my mind, until sweat covers my whole body. It's just a second of weakness, but the urgency of the feeling leaves me more troubled than the nightmare. 

It was a nightmare, I remind myself, just a nightmare. And not the first one, damn it!

Still somewhat shaking at the sensation of my fast and panicking heartbeat, I push the covers away. With wobbly legs, I go to the window and open it completely. The cool air touching my sweaty face calms me down, until I can breathe normally. But I'm not trying to fool myself into pretending the heat in my room, was the reason for my troubled sleep. And I know from past experience that I can forget sleeping for the rest of this night. 

After a few minutes, I leave the place at the window, then my apartment, going over to the dance school. Even in the past, when confusion, fury and a sea of horrible nightmares had been a constant part of my life, being in that large room with the mirrors, feeling the wooden floor beneath my feet could restore a sort of balance in my mind. And in the present days, the daily dance exercise with Karen before breakfast and me going to work will do the rest. 

During the last weeks, observing the morning dawn became a habit whenever I could not sleep. I don't even feel the need for a cigarette, while watching the light slowly pouring in until the whole room is bright and clear. 

****

Author's notes: 

First question: Do you need a summary for the previous chapters? If so, I will add one. 

"What Goes On" – The Velvet Underground, 1968. Not exactly from the right year, but my first idea did not fit to the content of the chapter.

"The Doors of Perception" is the title of an essay by Aldous Huxley about his experiments with LSD, and "The Doors" picked their name from this essay.

1. Let's talk characters: Reminder: I don't repeat all characters, just the newer and marginal ones: Soza, Garcia and the dead guy are OCs. Rick is not really Okita. Ali Norman = Anji, Jasper Cagney = Chou, Carmen Miranda = who else, but Kamatari?, Sarah = Sae Sekihara, but a girl only by wish. I won't say too much about the mysterious Russian boxing manager, because this is a spoiler in itself. 

2. Let's talk politics: Boxing and politics: I know I'm walking on very thin ice. I won't really involve the real Black Panthers and more radical movements, I'm rather treating this as an example. It's more about image than real people, and all allusions to historical or living persons are rather coincidence. 

However, if you want some information about the Black Panther movement and Mohammed Ali, I can give you a few links, I have used for my researches. 

3. Let's talk pop culture: The jumping from the rocks, I picked from the movies "Jim Carroll – Basketball Diaries" and "Sleepers". Both of them are set in the 60ties, and although in my story, they do it in the 50ties, I don't think that there was such a difference. I liked the picture, and it fits to the characters. 

__

Carmen Miranda, a famous samba dancer and singer, was not from Cuba, but from Brazil. Her hat creations are one part of her reputation. 

Posted 24-04-2004


End file.
